


Servus ad Harenas

by StarLight_Massacre



Series: Servus Series [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Spartacus Series (TV)
Genre: Explicit Language, Explicit descriptions of gladiatorial sport including blood, Graphic injuries, M/M, Minors, Orgies, Other, Slash, Slave rape, Threesomes, Torture, Violence, mutilation and death/execution., non-con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-22
Updated: 2020-07-22
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:42:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 14
Words: 169,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23787271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarLight_Massacre/pseuds/StarLight_Massacre
Summary: Harry is thrown into the Roman Republic, 74 BC, after an accident with a time turner. Caught by slavers and sold to a ludus in Capua, it takes every shred of iron will power, and every drop of magic, to see himself safe in the gladiatorial arena. Can he survive the third servile war? Will he ever get back to his own time? When it comes down to it, does he even want to?
Relationships: Barca/Harry/Pietros, Barca/Pietros, Crixus/Naevia, past Barca/Auctus
Series: Servus Series [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1713721
Comments: 379
Kudos: 1003
Collections: Harry Potter Fanfiction Favorites, Marvelous Tales, Random Fandom Favorites





	1. Tempus Harena

**Author's Note:**

> Author: StarLight Massacre
> 
> Title: Servus ad Harenas 
> 
> Rating: M
> 
> Warning: Slash, threesomes, orgies, minors, non-con, slave rape, explicit language, graphic injuries, character deaths, explicit descriptions of gladiatorial sport including blood, torture, violence, mutilation and death/execution. 
> 
> Pairing: Barca/Harry Potter/Pietros
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own anything from Harry Potter; all rights go to J. K. Rowling. I do not own anything from Spartacus; all rights go to Starz entertainment. I make no money for this piece of fictional writing and never will.
> 
> Summary: Harry is thrown into the Roman Republic, 74 BC, after an accident with a time turner. Caught by slavers and sold to a ludus in Capua, it takes every shred of iron will power, and every drop of magic, to see himself safe in the gladiatorial arena. Can he survive the third servile war? Will he ever get back to his own time? When it comes down to it, does he even want to?

Servus ad Harenas

Chapter One – Tempus Harena

Harry James Potter huddled against a wall with his best friend, Hermione, the both of them trying not to be seen as they snuck back into the castle after seeing Sirius safely away on Buckbeak.

“This is insane.” Harry muttered as he moved from the wall quickly and silently to slip behind a statue with Hermione hot on his heels.

“It’s dangerous.” Hermione stressed, her voice a little more shrill than usual from the illegality of what they were doing.

Harry nodded his understanding though, Hermione had been saying the same thing since they’d started this mind fucking trip back through time. Seeing himself as an outsider had been rather difficult to accept…there was a good reason why just anyone and everyone wasn’t given a time turner and why the abuse of one, such as now, was penalised heavily by the Ministry of Magic. They couldn’t be caught.

“After this is over, you’ll have to tell me more about Alexander the Great.” He said, trying to distract himself from thinking that there were two ‘hims’ running around at the moment, the very thought of it made him feel odd.

“I can’t believe that I found something that you actually want to read.” Hermione laughed quietly. “Who knew that you’d be so interested in ancient world history? Especially after how you behave in history of magic.”

“Binns is the worst teacher ever, Hermione, he doesn’t make anything sound half as interesting as it actually is. He does us all, and the history of our world, a huge disservice. I just…it’s so fascinating to know that these people existed, that there were people who lived here, perhaps at this very spot, thousands of years ago. I like seeing how they lived, how they did things without even half the tools and equipment that we have today. It’s amazing.”

“Have you finished that book on the ancient tribes of Britain?”

“Yeah. I found out where my parents were born from Remus and where I was born and what tribe it would have been back then.” Harry grinned. “Do you know that we’d have all been in different tribes? Yet a month or more of walking back then is just a simple floo away, or a split second Apparation. It’s so easy to get around these days as compared to back then. We can get from Scotland to London in a day, for them it must have been an impossible trip taking months and months.”

“I’m just so glad that I’ve finally found something that interests you enough to get you to read about it.”

“It only took two years.” Harry grinned.

“I’ll be spending twenty trying to find Ron’s interest, but at least I know now what to get you for your birthday.”

Harry laughed. “It’s going to be great, locked away in my room for three weeks with those books.”

“Have you learnt any more conversational Latin?”

“A bit, it’s actually helping my spell work too, which is an added bonus.” Harry shot her a lopsided grin. “My casting is much cleaner and I swear I done that one spell wandlessly.”

“I’ve told you, you probably imagined it, wandless and wordless spells are NEWT level skills.” Hermione insisted with a returning smile.

They slipped up another staircase quickly, praying that no one came out the door at the top as Harry peeked around it and then slipped behind another statue.

“I can cast a Patronus and most adults don’t know how to do that either.” Harry defended.

“How are you with ancient Egypt?” Hermione changed the subject. Harry let it lie. He knew she didn’t particularly like that he could cast a corporeal patronus and she couldn’t, but she understood that he’d needed to learn to cast it after his reaction to the Dementors. She just didn’t particularly like being reminded of it.

“Ancient Egypt, ancient Rome, ancient Greece, ancient Britain. It doesn’t matter.” He said easily. “I love them all. Thanks again for lending me Homer’s Iliad.”

“You don’t know how happy it makes me to know that you are reading and enjoying it.” Hermione smiled.

“I am enjoying it. Are there any modern books about this stuff?” He asked. “Like, stories set back in those times, but written recently?”

Hermione nodded happily. “It’s called historical fiction. I’ll get you some of those for your birthday too!” She said, almost beaming from ear to ear.

“No, you’re already getting me those factual, non-fiction books, it’s too much.” Harry insisted.

“Harry, you’ve found a passion for reading something more than Quidditch trivia!” Hermione said. “I need to feed this passion, I don’t want it to die out!”

Harry smiled. “It won’t, Hermione. It’s always been an interest, but I haven’t been able to express it, or even known how to express it before. Now I know that there are books out there about all of this stuff that I’ve wanted to learn about, I know how to get what I need to feed my passion. It’s been a year now and my interest hasn’t waned yet. Oh, remind me when we go shopping for our Hogwarts things to get some new books to take with me for the new term again.”

“Of course I will!”

Harry pulled Hermione into the corridor that held the hospital wing and they saw Dumbledore coming out and they both sighed with relief.

“Sir, we did it!” Harry said happily, breathlessly. “Sirius has gone on Buckbeak.”

The Headmaster gave them a huge, twinkling smile.

“Well done. I believe that you’ve gone now.” He said, listening at the door. “Get inside, I’ll lock you in.”

Harry slipped back into the hospital wing with Hermione and they were locked back in. Ron was still unconscious in the end bed. They snuck back to their own beds, but as Hermione was trying to loop the time turner back around her neck, so that she could tuck it into her robes, Madam Pomfrey bustled into the room from her office. Harry snatched the time turner and hid it down the front of his trousers quickly, using a convenient hole in the pocket of his robes.

“Did I hear the Headmaster leave? Am I allowed to look after my own patients now?”

He and Hermione shared secret smiles as Madam Pomfrey fed them chocolate, she was in a very bad mood, so neither of them argued. Harry had taken one of his books on ancient Rome from his book bag as he ate his chocolate, opening it in his lap and he started reading quietly as he nibbled, barely able to swallow he was that tense. Hermione saw him and she did the same with a Charms book. Madam Pomfrey watched them approvingly as she looked them over and pressed even more chocolate to them, happy to leave them be as they were being very quiet.

The sudden roar of fury from the floor above made Madam Pomfrey jump. “What in the world?” She said in alarm.

The loud, furious voices got closer and they could make out Professor Snape’s voice clearly as he came striding towards the hospital wing.

He burst through the doors, standing still a moment as he looked around at all the beds, at all the occupants, until his black eyes rested on him, and Harry smiled at the man sweetly, in faux innocence.

“What did you do, Potter?! Out with it!”

“Professor Snape! Control yourself!” Madam Pomfrey said in shock.

Snape was howling about Harry being involved with Sirius’ escape, while the Minister, Fudge, insisted that the door had been locked, Madam Pomfrey backing him up by telling the three men that she had been with Harry and Hermione since the door had been locked and that they had not left the room.

“I know he did it!” Snape bellowed.

Harry made himself look small and meek, clutching his book in his lap.

“I haven’t left this room.” He insisted. “Honestly, Professor.”

Snape stepped forward and gripped his robe collar tightly and Harry felt a jolt, like a surge of magic, come from within him to burn Snape’s hand. Snape let go very quickly, but Harry’s own magic reacted with the time turner he’d hidden down the front of his own robes and it exploded with a soft tinkling sound. He felt a cold, tickly sensation and he realised that the sand in the time turner was touching his skin…it found a cut that he’d gotten earlier and the moment the sand got inside his body, his eyes rolled up into his head and he hit the floor.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ X

Harry slitted his eyes open and he frowned as he could immediately see without his glasses. He touched his face to see if they were on the end of his nose, but they weren’t. He frowned harder as he tried to figure out what had happened, as he tried to recall his last memory. Something about a time turner niggled in his brain. He seemed to be lying in a green field. The thought did actually pass through his head that perhaps he was dead, and then the memory of what had happened in the hospital wing, with Snape and the time tuner breaking, rushed over him like an icy wave of realisation, settling like a pit of dread in his stomach.

He sat up and looked around. He had no idea where he was or what was happening. He looked to his naked body and cupped himself with his hands in embarrassment. He had nothing else to cover himself with, there was no sign of his robe or anything else that he’d had on him, the only thing near him was a single silver coin that was near his foot. He picked it up and frowned again. He recognised it from the books he’d been reading lately…it was a Denarius, an ancient Roman coin.

He looked at the cut on his side and it was already mostly healed. It was scabbed over, very shallow, but it had caused so much trouble. He had no doubts that right now, the time sand that had gotten into his wound was still in his cut, which his body was healing over. It was going to be inside his body forever and he had no implication as to what that meant.

He stood up and he went wandering. He didn’t know how long he’d been here, or even where here was. He didn’t want to think on what the Denarius meant…he remembered that he’d been holding one of his books when he’d felt the time turner break. It was nowhere in sight, lost along with his robe and wand and the broken time turner.

He was naked and afraid, lost somewhere that he didn’t recognise, with no clue how he’d gotten here or even how long he’d been here. He was terrified and the only thing he wanted was something familiar that he recognised. To his horror he felt tears welling up in his gritty eyes, but it was a knee jerk reaction to the situation he was in…he wanted to be a little child, crying under a blanket, but he knew that that wouldn’t help him. He had long since learnt that crying wouldn’t help him, in fact it usually made things worse, so he stubbornly blinked those tears back and set his jaw.

He found a small stream and gratefully fell to his knees to drink. It was here that things went wrong when a man with a horse and cart trundled past. He stared at Harry as if he were the strangest thing he’d ever seen.

_“Where is your master?”_

Harry blinked. “What?”

The man’s eyes lit up and too late Harry realised that they had both spoken in different languages. Harry tried to run, he pushed past the ache in his body, the tiredness and the sheer sense of desolation he felt and he ran, but the man had bodyguards with him, big burly men who ran him down easily.

_“Get him in the back of the cart with the others.”_ The man ordered, Harry only barely understanding the gist of what was being said as he squirmed and kicked out. _“Don’t mark him either, a beauty that rare can command a fortune in Rome.”_

That one word, Rome, and Harry felt his stomach sink. The thought passed through his mind once again that he’d been holding that book in his hand when the time turner had broken. Had that had an effect on the time sand? Had that book influenced where and how far back he’d gone in time, absent the wearer turning the hourglass manually?

He was bundled into the back of a cart, which was already over full with miserable, sobbing, naked people and Harry could have vomited as he realised that he must have been caught by a slaver. Of all the luck.

He squashed himself in a tiny gap between two women, one who was holding a terrified girl of about three. He made himself as small as he could and tucked his legs up to his chest…the one single coin was still clutched tight in his left hand like a comforter.

He was soon tied up, after his second attempt to make a run for it after the back of the wagon was opened. He still didn’t give up and after the eighth escape, where he’d injured a few of the guards by kicking them and elbowing them in the face…one had gone down screaming and spluttering, almost suffocating, when Harry’s magic had burst from him like invisible tendrils to choke him like Devil’s Snare, he had been chained to the actual wagon so that he couldn’t get out of the back. He spent the rest of his time willing the chains to open with wandless magic, exhausting himself and straining his mind, muscles and magic to try and open the shackles around his wrists.

_“He’s too much trouble!”_ One of the guards insisted. _“Drop him off in Capua.”_

_“He’ll be worth ten times as much in Rome!”_ The slaver denied.

_“He won’t be worth anything if he gets away!”_ The guard said angrily. _“He’s been trouble from the start, drop him off in Capua because if this carries on he will never reach Rome!”_

That was how Harry ended up here, in this little town, shackled like a common criminal in a line of defeated, miserable women over two months after being picked up and thrown in the back of a wagon. He had no idea how long he’d been lying in that field before he’d woken up, but his small scratches and wounds had already been healed, most of them already gone from his body, others just healing scabs that had soon vanished. He’d found out along the way that it was the kalendae of Sextilis, which Harry knew from reading his books was the first of August. He was now fourteen.

One of the women shackled in the line with him was sobbing her heart out as they were chained to a wall in what seemed to be a market square. A line of boisterous men were chained heavily, adjacent to where Harry was stood. They were fettered at wrists and ankles, chained to one another and to the wall behind them.

_“This boy here, he is to be sold as a whore?”_

Harry turned and glared at the man who approached him, his grey hair curled perfectly, eyeliner under his eyes.

_“Look at that smooth, flawless skin! He is young and vibrant, he’ll be very pliable. His eyes are what set him apart, have you ever seen such eyes before?”_ The slaver replied. _“He was set to be sold in Rome, but we head too far east on our next drop to make the trip to Rome for one boy, it would put us out of pocket. Capua is the next biggest city after Rome, so it was decided to sell him on here.”_

_“If I were to give you twenty denarii now, could you move him to that line?”_ The man asked, flashing a heavy purse of silver.

_“For what purpose?”_ The slaver asked. _“That line is for warriors, to be sold as bodyguards and gladiators, he does not fit in with them.”_ The man complained. _“Such a boy would be utterly wasted, he is to be a whore, or even a personal slave. Do you know how much he could have fetched in Rome with such a look about him?”_

_“Thirty denarii.”_ The man smiled, holding out another purse of silver.

The slaver licked his lips. _“Just to move him to the warrior line?”_

The man nodded with a smile. _“And to spin a tale about how viciously he fought upon his capture, including the death of several men, to make sense of his inclusion in the warrior line.”_

_“If he does not sell…”_ The man fretted.

_“You will have those who want him as a whore bidding too.”_ The man insisted.

_“Men usually do not go for those who are not docile. A whore in the warrior line could lose interest.”_

_“And is he nice and docile?”_ The man asked silkily. _“That look upon his face says otherwise.”_

The slaver remembered the true reason that he was selling at Capua and not in Rome and he sighed.

_“No, not particularly.”_

_“Then there is no problem. Thirty denarii to move him to the warrior’s line, quickly.”_

Harry was unchained as quickly as the guards were able, he had sand and dirt rubbed onto him at the direction of the man who’d paid to have him moved and he was stuck right at the front of the line of big, burly men who glared at him as if resenting even being seen with him. He barely reached their chests.

_“What is your name?”_ The slaver demanded.

_“Harry…ah, ngh.”_ Harry broke off into harsh coughs as he inhaled some of the dusty sand that had just been thrown in his face by the guard, trying to breathe and clear his lungs.

_“Harian? Good.”_

Harry blinked and stared after the slaver. Couldn’t he tell a cough from actual letters? He sighed, probably not, it didn’t help that his Latin wasn’t that good either. How did he even manage to get himself into these messes? He hoped that someone found a way to get him back to where he was supposed to be, as much as the ancient world fascinated him, he’d never wanted to actually live here.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ X

Quintus Lentulus Batiatus surveyed the warrior stock with a critical eye, noting with some surprise the small boy on the end as he and his Doctore scrutinised the line of slaves for potential recruits.

“Why is he there?” He asked aloud.

His Doctore, Oenomaus, looked to the boy too and shook his head. “It is obviously a mistake that the slaver is too embarrassed to rectify in public, Dominus.”

“Ah, Batiatus, nice to see that you could make it.”

“Solonius.” Quintus greeted coolly as he moved back to let others inspect the slaves.

“See anything that you like? I have my eye on the boy, as do many others.”

“For what purpose?” Quintus asked. “You’ve never been a lover of boys.”

Solonius laughed and it made Quintus grind his teeth.

“As a gladiator, of course, Batiatus, what other purpose? You should have seen him earlier. Luck would have it that I had errands to run early this morning, I passed here right when they were chaining him up. That poor guard will never walk again. It took four of them just to get the fetters on him. Such a wild boy would make a nice addition to my ludus.”

“He’s feisty! He’s feisty, that’s all!” The slaver called out nervously as a man stepped away from the boy, blood running down from his broken nose where the boy, absent his hands and feet, had head butted him instead.

Solonius chuckled. “You see? The boy is a pure barbarian. You know they fight their boys as infants? I had heard talk that they fight the girls too, but what can you expect of such animals?”

“Shall we start the bidding with young Harian?” The slaver called out worriedly as the boy bared his teeth and snarled like a feral dog.

“Why is he even with the warrior stock?” One man called out immediately.

“He fought viciously upon his capture, killing several men before he was overwhelmed by numbers.” The slaver insisted. “He is a warrior at heart and given some time, he will make a fine gladiator. Perhaps not a bodyguard, he is too short as yet to protect most decent men, but he is young, he will grow. You have seen how feisty he can be here this very morning.”

“Five denarii.” A man called out immediately.

“Seven.” Another topped almost before the first had finished speaking.

“Ten denarii.” Solonius offered.

“Twelve.”

Quintus looked in surprise to Vibius, another lanista, who had just bid on the boy and again, was not known to be a lover of them. Perhaps there was something that he was missing?

“Fifteen denarii.” Someone else called out.

“Eighteen.” A voice cried.

“Twenty.” Vibius insisted, clenching his jaw.

“Twenty-five.” Solonius added smoothly and Vibius cursed and dropped back, having reached his personal limit.

“Do I hear any other bids?” The slaver asked.

Quintus, seized by madness of a possible missed opportunity, stepped forward. “Thirty denarii!”

“Dominus, such an amount of coin on this boy, he isn’t worth it.” Oenomaus said quickly, quietly. “He is not a gladiator. That coin could buy three good men, not a small, weak boy. His price is so high because he should be with the line of whores and most men here have interests in him for those purposes. The slaver has mistaken the best use of the boy, no matter how defiant or how boisterous he is.”

“Harian to Batiatus for thirty denarii!” The slaver called out and Quintus felt his stomach sink.

“Well, it seems you’ll be adding such a vicious boy to your ranks, Batiatus.” Solonius smirked and Quintus felt then that he’d been played.

To save face he confidently walked up to the slaver, handed over thirty denarii he couldn’t have afforded to lose and he tugged on the chain of the boy that he’d just bought. What madness had seized him to buy this boy? The rest of the stock was poor, one man was half dead already, another didn’t have any teeth, he should have walked away, but instead he had allowed Solonius to get under his skin and he had bought this useless fucking boy.

He handed the chain to Oenomaus and furiously strode back to his villa. He was lost in his thoughts, cursing himself for a fool. Lucretia was going to have several choice words to say now.

“Wash him off here.” He snapped as they reached a public fountain that was nearly deserted. “Like preparations for the pits, he’s been dirtied to hide his undamaged skin.”

Oenomaus easily lifted the boy, who allowed himself to be moved as docile as a tamed puppy, and sat him on the edge of the fountain. He used his hands to cup water and throw it on the boy. His dusty, seemingly grey hair came out pitch black and glossy, his dirty skin came out pink and cream, a delicate flush of colour under the clear, translucent skin. There wasn’t a single mark on him. No bruises, no cuts, no scars, no blemishes. He was a perfectly healthy young boy and a well-made and well-maintained one at that. Whoever he had been in a past life, he had been very well looked after, perhaps from a wealthy family. None of his ribs could be seen, he had a flat, but not concave belly, he was nicely toned. He’d been well fed and well exercised. He’d been the son of some merchant or other wealthy family before he’d ended up in slaver hands.

Those large, dark green eyes were shiny and bright as they watched every move that he made silently, an inspection of his teeth showed them perfect and bright white with none missing and no sign of rot, his gums were pink and healthy, as was the small pink tongue and there was no sign of infection or inflammation. His fingernails were whole and smooth, his hands soft and unblistered. Oenomaus was actually considering that the boy was the son of royalty or perhaps a tribal chieftain. This boy was so well cared for there could be no other explanation. He’d never had to work a day in his life before if the softness of his skin was an indication, he’d never had to eat bad food that could have worn down his teeth or rotted them out, and he was well groomed, despite the slight unkemptness of being in the slaver’s hands for some time.

Oenomaus shook his head. “He’s in perfect health, Dominus.”

“But?” The man snapped.

“He is soft and supple, smooth and unmarred. He is no warrior. He is no gladiator. The men would rip him to pieces.”

“That fucking Solonius!” Quintus cursed. “Thirty denarii on a fucking whore!”

“He would easily fetch twice that if sold on, Dominus. Even Arminius would see his worth when he is clean.”

Quintus scowled at the young boy, but he recognised that it wasn’t his fault he’d been played around with. “No, we keep him for now. I would lose face to pass him on so quickly.”

“Dominus, surely it’s better to pass him on now, before the men have a chance to spoil him. While he is so unmarred he can fetch a very high price.”

“Solonius will be watching.” Quintus shook his head. “This is his fucking fault! Selling me a docile puppy in place of wild wolf!”

“Is the boy to stay in the villa?” Oenomaus tried.

“No. He was sold to me as a gladiator, he will train as one.”

“Dominus…”

“I will hear no more on it. Get the boy up.”

Oenomaus took care with lifting the boy, who automatically brushed off his own backside before cupping himself. He had very little hair and it worried him. There was nothing on his chest or back, very little at his groin and armpits and not even the hint of a shadow at his jaw.

“Dominus, perhaps the boy is too young?” He tried.

Quintus looked at the boy and shook his head. “There is nothing to be done about it.”

They walked out of the town and to the mountainside, where the ludus and villa were located. It was a long walk and Oenomaus watched the boy wince every now and then as his bare feet caught a small stone. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply. A small boy whose delicate feet couldn’t handle stepping on stones had no business being in a ludus, but he noticed that the boy didn’t once cry out or complain, instead he grit his teeth and winced, but he carried on walking.

Oenomaus could see what was going to happen immediately as the gates were opened and he brought the boy out onto the training sands. The men had stopped to look curiously, as they always did, and he watched as eyes widened, jaws dropped and they started acting like dogs on heat, panting after a fertile bitch. Then the catcalling started and that was when the young boy took a small step closer to him. Physical pain didn’t bother him, but heckling did, it seemed.

“Get back to training!” He roared, taking the coiled whip from his belt and flicking it with a snap in their direction, not aiming at any of them, but giving them a warning.

“Doctore, see him with sandals and a subligaria and put him with the new recruits.” Quintus sighed. “I’m going to be a fucking laughing stock.”

Oenomaus said nothing, thought nothing, as he ushered the boy into the ludus and saw him fitted with the smallest sandals he could find and the smallest subligaria…both were still too big for him, but the boy made do by lacing the sandals as tightly as he could and cinching the subligaria in very tight and then tightening the belt he’d been given. It went around his slim waist twice.

“Don’t make trouble, Harian.” Oenomaus told the boy. “You refer to me as your Doctore, to the man you just met as Dominus. Do you understand me?”

“Yes.” The boy said quietly, his soft, sweet voice showing his youth. At least he understood and spoke Latin. He must have been highly educated too, he truly was the son of some rich, wealthy man who had seen to his education and his maintenance almost fervently.

“Yes what?” Oenomaus demanded, unwilling to put up with any insolence.

Those wide, green eyes caught his, a look of almost panic in them. He hadn’t been being insolent, he was just unfamiliar with what he needed to do. The boy was much, much too young for this.

“Yes, Doctore.” He said in such a way that was almost pleading that he had done the right thing to please him. He didn’t belong here and it wasn’t even the boy’s fault, he had been played around with, like all slaves, at the whim of the men around him.

“Good.” Oenomaus praised. “This is going to be a painful time for you, try to deal with it as best you can.”

Harry didn’t like that and he couldn’t help the frown that took over his mouth as he was steered back out onto the sands with the other men, with one large hand on his shoulder to direct him. The men were all big, burly and very well-muscled. They were trained fighters, trained killers, Harry could see that plainly enough. He would have to be wary of all of them.

“Doctore, what is this?” One man asked the man who kept a hand on Harry’s shoulder, but he was staring at him.

“This is a boy, Rhaskos.”

Harry hid his smile at the sarcastic remark.

“Why is he here, Doctore?” Easily the tallest man there asked.

The man sighed. “He has been bought as a gladiator.”

There was a moment’s pause and then the burst of loud, boisterous laughter could have deafened those still in the town, a mile back down the mountain.

“Surely you jest?” Another man asked when he realised that his Doctore wasn’t laughing with them.

“Unfortunately not.”

“He…he is but a boy! He’s not even full grown, he stands as tall as my belly!”

“Be that as it may, he has been bought as a gladiator and until further notice, he will train as a gladiator.”

“Boy, have you ever held a sword before?” One man asked with a cruel grin.

Harry blinked at being confronted directly, and wondered if it would be worse if he answered yes, or no. He’d held Gryffindor’s sword, he’d killed the basilisk with it in the Chamber of Secrets even, but he’d certainly had no skill with it, and he didn’t have any training in swordsmanship at all.

If he said yes, then they’d expect him to know things that he didn’t, yet if he said no, he’d be targeted, and ridiculed at best, abused at worst.

“No.” He finally said. He didn’t think his desperate and unskilled killing of the basilisk, a year ago now, would count here. Not to these men whose swords were just extensions of their natural limbs. If he’d said yes, and claimed any sort of skill, then he might be pitted against these men right from the off, and he had little doubt that he’d survive such an encounter. In this case, it seemed better to lie, just slightly, and claim that he’d never held a sword before, and take the ridicule for it.

There was another burst of laughter and Harry was forced to watch as they all joked and pointed at him.

“How about a shield?” The tallest one asked with a smirk.

Harry just shook his head and let them laugh at him. The man next to him sighed.

“To basics with you then. Pietros, sword and shield.”

Pietros turned out to be a boy only a few years older than himself, slim and slender, he didn’t look like the men around them either. He was carrying a wooden sword and shield. He held them out and Harry just looked at him.

“Take them then!” Someone called out laughing.

With a long suffering sigh, Harry took them. They were both very heavy, much heavier than he’d been expecting, and he dropped the shield right away, curling his arm to his chest protectively as it felt like the weight had wrenched his elbow out of joint. The other men laughed so hard that Harry was sure that they were going to wet themselves, or perhaps even tear their vocal cords. It came across to him as rather forced, and fake, as if they were trying to laugh their loudest just to ridicule him, but still his face burned with embarrassment.

“Fine. Just sword for now.” His Doctore said.

Harry was hustled over to a wooden post and he stood, looking at the tall man waiting for instruction.

“Do you understand how a sword works?” His Doctore demanded impatiently.

“Stab people with the pointy end, Doctore?” Harry answered.

The raucous roar of hysterical laughter from the watching, listening men made him blush hard enough that he went lightheaded and he ducked his head shyly.

“Well, you’re not entirely wrong.” Doctore sighed. “Have you never touched a sword before, seen one used? Did your father not have a sword, or perhaps an older brother?”

“My parents were killed when I was a year old. I was an only child.” Harry said stiffly.

“Were you taken in by other family?”

Harry nodded.

“Did they not have swords or show you how to use one?”

Harry shook his head. He tried to imagine uncle Vernon using the amount of effort it would take to swing a sword and he giggled softly to himself at the ridiculous image.

“See how softly he giggles! Like little girl!”

Harry looked up and glared at the man who’d spoken. He got an affronted look back.

“I don’t think he likes you, Rabanus.” Someone said, the other men all laughed.

“Look at me again in such a way, little girl and I will rip you in two!” The man, Rabanus, spat.

“All of you, back to training! I don’t recall ordering a break.” Their Doctore roared, flashing the whip at them all again and Harry bit his lip to stop the automatic flinch the snap of it gave.

Harry had his wrist gripped and he huddled down.

“Stand straight!” He was ordered harshly. “Put your feet shoulder width apart, like so.”

Harry did as he was instructed and he allowed his hands to be moved on the roughly roped hilt of the wooden sword. He relaxed his muscles and he felt the movement he was being forced through as his Doctore pulled his arms to the right and then swung them through to smash the wooden post. It jarred all through his hands, arms and up to his shoulders and he tried to drop the sword with a grunt of pain, but the other man held his hands tightly as he pulled out to the left this time before swinging in to hit the post. The man didn’t stop, even as Harry tried to pull away.

“It’s this, or it’s going against one of them.” The stern man told him firmly.

Harry swallowed and he took in a deep breath, clenching his jaw as he was forced to move his arms, swinging into the wooden post harder than he would ever have managed on his own. It almost felt like his bones would break as he was forced to hit and hit and hit the wooden post, his back protesting the movement, his shoulders screaming, but nothing compared to the pain in his elbows, forearms and wrists as he was forced to hit the thick block of wood over and over and over until he was shaking uncontrollably.

The man dropped his hands and watched as the sword dropped to the sand, Harry holding his arms down, trying not to take any weight onto his burning muscles.

“We will resume with the palus after the noon meal.” He was told, a look of pitying disgust aimed at him.

Harry didn’t want to eat. He curled up on a bench at a table in the far corner and he stared at the top of the table, not blinking, not moving, trying to breathe through the pain in his body. Someone sat at the end of his table and he looked over quickly, seeing two men. Both were big, but they seemed nonthreatening. They looked at him curiously, but ultimately they just sat at the end of the table, eating.

Harry couldn’t even bring himself to move his arms to pick up his spoon. How had this even happened? Could it ever be reversed? He laid a hand over the place where the shallow cut had been…it was now completely healed with not even a scar to mark where it had been, but Harry could still see it clearly in his mind. He wondered if it was foreshadowing, the wound was gone permanently, so he was to be here permanently. He hoped not.

“You shouldn’t waste good food.”

Harry startled and looked to the man on the end of his table. The darker haired one had spoken…the one with curly blond hair looked faintly disapproving.

Harry looked at the bowl of porridge that was going cold and lumpy and he pushed it gingerly towards the other man.

“That isn’t what I meant.” He said sternly.

“It’s not wasted if someone eats it.” Harry replied.

“What is your name? I am known as Spartacus here. This is Varro.”

Harry sighed and dropped his head to the table top. “Harian.” He answered softly.

“Have you truly never held sword or shield before?” The blond one asked.

Harry shook his head. “I’ve never needed to.” He said.

They all lapsed back into silence and Harry huddled down as one man unknowingly knocked into Pietros. The young man merely stumbled, catching himself easily on the table top, but the tallest man who Pietros had been about to sit next to leapt up and started attacking the man, screaming about unbranded shits hurting his lover and that he wasn’t going to get away with it, interspaced with threats of death and rape. Harry could well see the threat of killing the man coming true, the taller man truly seemed like he was trying to beat the other to death.

“That’s Barca. The Beast of Carthage.”

Harry blinked. He knew about Carthage…he’d read several books about a Hamilcar Barca, and Hannibal Barca too, and the first and second Punic wars. Hannibal Barca had crossed the Alps into Italy with an army that had included elephants.

“The rumour is he killed his own father in the arena.” Varro insisted, breaking Harry from his thoughts. “A group of his countrymen were captured, including him, and it was a fight to the last man…Barca was the last man. Don’t cross him or go near Pietros, the Doctore’s assistant, who is Barca’s boy lover.” 

“Enough!” Doctore roared, cracking his whip. “Barca!”

The tallest gladiator stopped his assault and he stood, going back to his table and to his bowl of porridge as if nothing had ever happened. It was terrifying to Harry to witness as such.

It wasn’t long after that that they were called back to the sand and Harry stood in front of the wooden post, waiting for the pain to start all over again.

His hands were once again held to the wooden sword and once again he was forced to smash the palus over and over until his eyes were watering with the pain.

“What are you doing?!”

For a moment Harry thought the roared words in his ear were for him, then he looked past the hated wooden post and saw two men fighting, rolling around the sand.

“Crixus! Spartacus!”

Harry’s hands were dropped and the whip came out, cracking into the sand right next to the heads of the two fighting men. They were pulled apart and they got a tongue lashing, but nothing worse than that as Harry was told to hit the palus, but this time on his own.

Harry didn’t even think he’d be able to pick the sword up, but he forced his body to bend, to clench the sword in his right hand. He tried his best, but he was still declared hopeless and Harry wondered if they’d expected fucking miracles. He’d already told them that he’d never held a fucking sword before.

“Kerza, practice with Harian.”

Harry looked fearfully at the gladiators around him, but Kerza turned out to be the man that Barca had beaten almost to a pulp earlier. He had a tattoo right across his forehead, Harry knew from that that Kerza was a runaway slave who had been sold on as a gladiator as punishment for running from his former master.

Despite being beaten up, Kerza didn’t even try to go easy on him, in fact he seemed to want to ‘prove’ himself by beating Harry to a pulp in return. Harry wondered how that would even prove a fucking thing as he was half the size of the other man, but Harry kept picking himself up quickly, rolling to his feet again and again and again.

“Doctore?” One gladiator called out. “Did you teach the boy the missio?”

Doctore turned around to see Harry picking himself up, only to find himself hit right back down again before he had his feet. The man sighed heavily and broke up their fight. He then spent several minutes teaching Harry how to forfeit, holding two fingers up in the air in a plea of supplication for mercy.

As the sun set, Harry’s first day…or rather half day, of training in a ludus came to a halt and his body wasn’t just aching, it was burning, screaming. He ate a few spoonfuls of the porridge, having avoided having his bowl knocked from his hands purely because he was half the size of everyone else, but he found he wasn’t even that hungry. He once again pushed the bowl to Spartacus, who hadn’t really done anything wrong to him… _yet_ , but Harry had seen him fighting with the man, Crixus, he knew the potential of that body, the violence of the man sat at the end of the table, and it was sort of like a bribe to ‘please don’t hurt me.’

“You need to eat.” The man said sternly. “Starving yourself won’t help.”

Harry just looked at him miserably before looking back down at the table top, waiting to be told what to do next.

Next seemed to be even more torture as they were herded into a bath house and given oil and a metal hook. Harry watched what everyone else was doing, the practiced hands of the older gladiators as they just stripped off their subligarias, rubbed the oil into their dirty skin and then used the hook to scrape it back off.

Harry found a corner to hide in as he ‘cleaned’ himself in this crude manner of the ancient world, and followed the lead of the others as they all dipped into the pool of water to get off any residue oil that remained, washing their hair as they did so. What he wouldn’t give for a two hour soak in a nice hot bath or a powerful shower to ease away the terrible ache in his screaming muscles.

The new recruits were called straight to their cells, which included him, and they were all pushed into the same cell and locked in. Harry was terrified, but Spartacus herded him up into the top corner, where he himself then laid in front of him. It seemed that he had found a willing protector of sorts in the other man, who ignored the disapproving look of his blond friend, Varro, and instead Spartacus just closed his eyes, trying to force sleep.

Harry, still damp from his bath, his hair still damp, tried to do the same, but the pain in his body was a hard thing to ignore, and he found it almost impossible to fall asleep.

When they were woken up not three hours later by their Doctore, Harry’s body was one big ache and he’d barely slept at all in the three hours that they’d been left alone in the cell. His body was almost crippled by the pain and every movement tugged at a new sore muscle as he was forced to get himself back up.

His back ached, his shoulders and arms ached, his legs ached. Everything was pain and he could barely do the warm up stretches. He let out a soft sob before he controlled himself and swallowed the noise back down.

They were set to more rigorous training and Harry couldn’t even hope to keep up, he didn’t try, not even when Doctore’s whip snapped at his feet in a clear warning. There was nothing he could do, he was in pain as it was and he had no energy left. He was doing his all just to keep his feet. When it came to lifting the block of wood, he did more harm to himself trying to lift it. It had to have been ten times heavier than he was himself and he didn’t have the body of a man, nor the muscles to be able to lift it.

“Leave it, Harian.” Doctore ordered him as he watched the boy try yet again to lift the block that was bigger and heavier than he was. “Run more laps instead.”

Harry gratefully left the block of wood where it was, where he hadn’t even be able to move it, and he ran laps around the training square, cutting a few inches off the course as he refused to go too near the sheer drop off the cliff, especially not in the dark that was lit only by a few burning torches on the walls. He’d been avoiding it since he’d first realised that the drop below was a hundred feet or more, straight down, onto jagged rock.

When the sun was rising and the actual gladiators were getting their breakfasts, watching the new recruits punish themselves, perhaps even remembering their own recruitment periods, Harry was struggling to keep to a straight line, already seeing double and weaving like he was drunk. The gladiators had seen immediately that he wasn’t walking with the blocks of wood on his shoulders like the other recruits and as Harry had to pass them on his circuit, they took to throwing abuse at him as he stumbled past them, obviously thinking that he needed more abuse than the others because he’d been excluded from a ritual part of the recruitment training.

When Doctore finally called a halt to their training and told them to go get something to eat, Harry slowed to a walk, weaved for several steps, went to his knees and he vomited a white, frothy fluid onto the sand, right in front of the gladiators.

“He’s diseased!” One cried out, leaping away from him.

Doctore had started making his way to him as soon as he saw that Harry was dazed and confused, a hand to his forehead told him nothing, but looking into the too wide, glassy eyes told him more.

“He’s not diseased.” He snapped impatiently. “This is what true exhaustion looks like. He’s pushed himself over the level of his endurance and carried on regardless, pushing through the pain and tiredness and he still kept going. Many and more of you would have dropped to the sand before this point and never gotten back up again.”

Harry was hefted up and easily carried over to be sat on a bench. Doctore himself got him a bowl of porridge and two cups of water. One cup was immediately forced on him, held to his mouth as he spluttered and choked on it, but soon he found his reflexes and he swallowed in large, hard gulps.

“Make sure he eats, I need to consult the medicus.”

Harry was left, dazed and shaking, his body one huge, aching pain of convulsive muscles that made him shiver and jerk, unable to stay still. He swayed, his exhaustion too much, his muscles too weak and sore to keep him sat still.

“Eat!” Someone prodded him. He was prodded again, harder. He turned his head slowly, trying to get his eyes to focus, but just that small amount of effort threw him into spasms.

His head hit the table without him even knowing he’d fallen forward.

“Is he dead?” Someone asked.

“Don’t be stupid, Rhaskos.” Someone above him snapped.

That someone gripped his hair and pulled him upwards. Harry tried to glare, but it likely came out like a frown. It turned out to be Crixus who had a hold of him. “Eat.” The man directed right to his face.

He was let go and Harry slumped back onto the table.

“He’s hopeless.” He heard Barca laugh. “Little boys have no hope, save food for others and let him die. He’s not even a brother and he never will be.”

Harry so badly wanted to make Barca eat his own words, but he was so tired, so exhausted, that such thoughts were on the same scale as climbing Mount Everest while being chained to a lorry going full speed in the opposite direction.

“Drink this.” He was ordered. Doctore had come back.

Harry used the remnants of his energy and he looked in the cup to what looked like a bunch of leaves chewed up in an inch of water.

“What is it?” He asked.

“Never mind what it is, drink it.”

“No.”

“Drink it!” He was ordered more firmly.

“I don’t want to.”

He heard the sigh. “You seem to be under the impression that you have a choice in the matter. Now drink.”

Harry sighed himself and he sniffed at the drink, trying to detect the healing herbs that Madam Pomfrey used. He did actually smell something familiar and that reassured him at least that he wasn’t being poisoned outright.

He swallowed the bitter drink without fuss or ceremony. It was better than some of the potions he’d had to take over the years. Skele-gro came to mind and compared to that, this drink could have been pumpkin juice.

“Now eat and drink more water.”

Harry actually turned and ate a bit of the porridge, ignoring everyone around him. He was right in the middle of the wolves den, at a table almost dead centre of the eating area with Crixus beside him and Barca opposite, surrounded at the other tables by more gladiators, most of which he didn’t even know the name of.

“You swallowed that so easily. What else do you swallow easily?”

Harry looked up with a frown at a gladiator on the table beside him.

“What?” He asked.

Apparently that was hilarious to all of them as they started laughing like hyenas again. He sighed and went back to his breakfast. He’d eaten less than half and didn’t want any more. He pushed it sideways, at Crixus, letting him choose if he wanted it or not. He took it without thanks or any gratitude. Harry didn’t care as he sipped on the second cup of water.

All too soon they were called to the training sands and all Harry wanted to do was sleep for a week. He was the last to get his wooden sword for the day and it was handed to him carefully.

“Thank you, Pietros.” He said softly, not expecting an answer.

“Keep going.” The young man told him with a gentle smile.

Harry smiled back shyly and he turned to see what torture he was going to be put through today.

“Pair up. Crixus with Barca. Gnaeus with Rhaskos.”

Harry was left wondering what he was to do when one of the gladiators approached him.

“Get here, pretty boy.” He ordered. Harry didn’t move. “I said get here, are you stupid?”

Harry again didn’t move. He looked around and he swallowed as he realised that there was an odd number of recruits…one of them had to pair with an actual gladiator. Him apparently.

“Don’t make me come to you.” The man threatened. “I will split your arse in two!”

Harry baulked at that and he frowned.

“Leave the poor boy alone, Litaviccus he doesn’t know what you mean.” Barca laughed as he took a breather while Crixus climbed back to his feet.

“As if you wouldn’t have him in a heartbeat if you could, Beast of Carthage.” Harry’s opponent, apparently named Litaviccus, laughed.

“Anyone would with a boy so smooth and young.” Barca laughed. “Doesn’t mean that he’s for the scum like you.”

That wiped the smile from Litaviccus’ face. “I will kill him and fuck him on these sands!”

Harry’s eyes widened at that and he did his best to avoid the swings and blows being rained down on him, rolling to his feet as soon as he hit the sand, not allowing Litaviccus near him.

“Much better, Harian.” Doctore said approvingly. “Now try and actually hit back instead of rolling over the sand.”

Harry didn’t think the man quite understood the danger that Harry was in, nor just how much energy it was taking him to just keep his opponent away from him after the threat given to him.

“Come on, Litaviccus!” Someone called out. “Don’t say a mere pretty boy is besting you! He is not even a brother.”

That made them all laugh and Harry could have killed the gladiator who’d spoken as he was once again hit with a barrage of attacks from the furious Litaviccus.

“Stop!” Doctore roared as Harry rolled sluggishly back to his feet. “Harian, do you remember me telling you to use the missio to give your opponent the win?”

Harry nodded tiredly. “Yes, Doctore.”

“Show me.” He was ordered and Harry made the sign of submission, holding two fingers into the air. “Why do you not use it?”

“I don’t want to give him the win.” Harry said simply. “If he wants my submission, Doctore, he can work for it.”

Harry saw the approval and grudging respect from his Doctore and he heard the laugher around him, whether the other gladiators were laughing because he was being foolish or because of what he’d said, he didn’t care. He wouldn’t give in without a fucking fight. He had never been one to roll onto his belly and surrender, he’d never been one to show cowardice, not even against Voldemort, or the basilisk, not even Quirrell, the Dursleys, or the Dementors. He was not a coward and he was going to learn how to fight and he was going to prove it, no matter what it took for him to do so.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ X

It had been just six days and every single part of him ached so fiercely that just walking caused him agony. He didn’t bother washing himself today, he went straight to the cell that he shared with all the other new recruits and he crawled into his bed roll, right at the back, squashed into the one wall. He was running on fumes now and as soon as he settled his body, stopping all movement that caused more pain, he became drowsy. He was asleep before the others even arrived at the cell they shared and he didn’t so much as stir as they all trundled in, settling themselves down ready to be locked in.

He had thought that he would be abused while he was here, some of the threats towards him seemed to indicate as such, but being locked in this cell was almost a safety blanket. The other gladiators weren’t locked in their cells, only the new recruits were for safety purposes, considering it seemed to be a game to the branded gladiators to kill off as many of the new recruits as possible, so he was safe in here from the actual gladiators. He had worried about his recruitment class, but with Spartacus using himself as a human barrier, it was safe in the cell as well and he could sleep all he needed to, safely knowing that Spartacus, for whatever reason, was happy to protect him from the others.

He’d been told that one of their recruitment class had died on the very first day that the others had been in the ludus (Harry had come several days after them), and another had died while Harry had been there, that very day actually, right as he’d been watching. The wooden sword, that he’d thought was nice and safe and incapable of doing more than bruising or maybe breaking a bone in exceptional cases, had been thrust with so much force and power and it had hit at just the right angle to go right through the throat of the other recruit. Harry had been so close that his lower legs had gotten some blood splatters and he’d seen everything as the man fell down dead.

Harry had turned hysterical and it had taken his Doctore fifteen minutes of holding him, of coaxing and yelling to get Harry to stop screaming at the top of his lungs in high pitched, keening notes of terror. Once quiet, his Doctore had moved onto gentle touches and soothing noises while Harry had confirmed that it was the first person he’d ever seen being killed in such a violent, bloody manner. Surprisingly no one gave him much grief over it, probably remembering how they had reacted to seeing their first violent death. When one gladiator had tried to make him feel bad about it, Barca had intervened with a quick shut down about the first always being the most difficult to deal with and to leave him alone to process what he’d seen. He had given Harry a look, then a smirk, then he’d turned back to training and the moment was gone.

Harry was woken up by Spartacus, who told him that a new day had begun. It seemed to come far too soon. Harry considered going back to sleep and ignoring everyone, but he knew that he couldn’t. He got up and shuffled to the eating area, getting his bowl of porridge and ducking away from Rhaskos, who tried to knock the bowl from his hands, he instead went to the other side of Crixus and sat down, opposite Pietros, who smiled kindly at him.

“Why don’t you stink?”

Harry frowned at Gnaeus, who’d asked the question.

“What?”

“You didn’t bathe yesterday, yet you don’t reek, why?”

“He’s obviously not working hard enough.” Crixus smirked.

“Boys don’t stink.” Barca said easily. “They can sweat as much as they want, but they always smell fresh. It’s with manhood that it changes.”

“You would know, Barca. You’ve loved enough boys.”

There was a round of snickering, but Barca didn’t deny it. He didn’t seem bothered by it at all, he just carried on eating.

Harry took a couple more mouthfuls himself. He was getting better at eating more of his meals. He was eating a little more than half a bowl now, but he still stopped before he finished and he pushed his bowl at Barca, who took Harry’s remaining porridge happily, leaving Harry to drain the rest of his water. He’d found out that his presence was tolerated at this table as long as he had something to offer, even if it was just an inch or so of cold porridge to the two top gladiators of this ludus…Crixus was the champion of the entire city, he did not want to make an enemy of these men.

“Are you feeling better?”

Barca snapped his head to his boy lover, who had addressed Harry. Harry didn’t know if he should answer or ignore Pietros, he didn’t know which action would bring down Barca’s disapproval or anger. He already seemed upset at Pietros for even speaking to him and he didn’t want to make things worse, but Pietros was looking at him, smiling kindly, and Harry didn’t want to ignore him either.

“It’s getting easier.” He said simply. “I’m less tired now that the pain is fading.”

“I heard Doctore talking to the medicus, he said that all your muscles were tense and there was a possibility of them tearing?” Pietros asked worriedly.

Harry nodded, having been examined several times by the filthy medicus. He’d been horrified that he was even considered a health carer. Harry, with his limited knowledge of healing, could probably do a better job.

“I’ve never had to use my muscles in such a way, forcing movement repeatedly made them tight and sore and the pain of that stopped me from moving as well as I could. I’ve pulled several muscles and others are on the verge of being pulled. My back and shoulders are the worst, but I’m getting used to it and they’re not so sore anymore.”

“Were you someone’s pampered, pet little boy?” Crixus asked him.

“No.” Harry said simply. “I’ve just never been expected to do anything like this before.”

“Surely your father wanted you to be a warrior.” Crixus continued. Harry noticed that Barca twitched and he wondered what was going on with that, but he didn’t press.

“He died when I was a baby, my mother too. I’m very sure they would not have wanted me to be any sort of fighter or warrior. They died protecting me from such things, after all.”

“Any brothers or sisters?”

“No, I was an only child.”

“Other family?”

“An aunt, uncle and cousin.” Harry replied, keeping his voice mild.

“Where are they now?”

Harry shrugged. “I couldn’t say.”

“How did you get caught? Though I assume you didn’t put up much of a fight.” Crixus added, looking at his small, smooth body. Harry didn’t let the barb bother him, he was very aware that he’d come to them without so much as a bruise, let alone any sort of cut or wound that might have indicated he’d put up a fight.

“To the sands!”

Pietros leapt up immediately and he went to the wooden chest that kept the training weapons safe. Their conversation interrupted, everyone else followed quickly, unwilling to test Doctore’s patience so early in the day. Pietros had opened the chest and he’d started handing out weapons. He got a large spear on Doctore’s orders and Harry saw him smile as he handed it to Barca, who kissed him happily for it.

Harry got his own wooden sword with a shy smile for Pietros. He received one in return. Harry really did like Pietros. He was the only one that he genuinely liked in this horrific place.

“Thank you, Pietros.”

“Good luck.”

Harry grimaced. “I’m going to need more than luck.”

“Do you know why Barca has a spear?”

Harry startled and inhaled deeply, looking at his Doctore, who had approached him from behind without him even noticing. He needed to be better than that, it would have been much easier if he’d used his magic, but his reserves had been running low ever since he’d tried to escape from the back of the slaver wagon, and he was using what he did have to ease his pained body so that he could get through each day, and then sleep at night. He was wary of using too much at once, as he never wanted to feel that empty void inside himself where his magic should be ever again. It had been the worst feeling, to fear that his magic was gone forever.

“No, Doctore.”

“There are different classes of gladiator. Murmillones, as Crixus is. Retiarii, who fight with a net and trident, as Gnaeus does. Barca is a hoplomachus, so he fights with a spear. There are also secutors, laquearii, samnites, thraeces and dimachaeri.”

Harry nodded his understanding.

“Pair up! Barca with Gnaeus, Crixus with Rabanus.”

Harry sighed and waited for someone to target him. It had been the same for the last three days, since he’d been training with the other gladiators and not just forced to hit at the palus on his own.

A gladiator approached him, his name was Hamilcar and Harry sighed, preparing his abused, battered body for some more serious pain.

Harry slipped into the pose that he’d been shown by Spartacus and he held the sword how Doctore had shown him. He was getting better, but he was still no match for these men. He still refused to use the missio as he was beaten down, again and again and again. He just kept rolling to his feet, even when he didn’t want to. Sometimes he just wanted to stay down and lie there, panting, breathing heavily, but he never did. He forced himself up and he sent himself back for more pain, for more abuse.

He did try to protect himself, he’d learnt now how to use his wooden sword, that was too big to fit properly in his hand, as a sort of impromptu shield, seeing where his opponent was attacking from and moving himself out of the way or clattering his wooden sword to barge it out of the way, just enough for it to miss hitting him.

He was doing much better now that his magic had finally come back to him after he’d exhausted it trying to unlock his manacles in the back of the slaver wagon. That wonderful, full feeling it gave him, warm and comforting like he’d sunken into a hot bath, made him feel a million times better and he could draw on it for more energy, for healing and sorting out his sore muscles and bruises. He was just so relieved to have his magic back after so long with its absence. He had worried that such an integral part of himself was gone, lost forever, along with his robes, glasses and wand. To get it back, so suddenly, out of the blue one morning, it felt amazing. He was using it to his advantage too, drawing on it for comfort, energy, strength and healing. It was working too. He had worried that it would vanish again, but every morning he woke up and it was full to the brim again, almost vibrating under his skin, urging him to use it, but he was still wary of using too much at one time.

“Come on, Harian!” His Doctore snapped. “Do something!”

All the sparring pairs stopped to watch for a moment and Hamilcar smirked and came at him with renewed strength and vigour. Harry was laughed at as he found himself on the sand. He rolled up to his feet immediately, not allowing Hamilcar to claim a victory over him, thus allowing him to continue to not use the missio.

He tried to hold his own for a little while and managed it, Hamilcar was the one who got ribbed for it and it made him angry, it made him swing faster, hit harder.

Harry was disarmed with a particularly savage swipe that threw him to his knees, dazed, and, knowing that he’d truly lost this one, he went to raise his two fingers in surrender. Hamilcar didn’t stop however, he pulled back, twisting his upper body and he swung with his full force at Harry’s head. He had a single fraction of a second to realise what was happening and he rushed to put his magic to his head to cushion the blow as much as he could. He heard his Doctore roaring Hamilcar’s name, saw the whip going back, but the wooden sword connected with his head with a sickening, echoing crack and there wasn’t even any pain, everything immediately went black and he didn’t feel his body hitting the ground. He was unconscious before he even touched the hot sand.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ X


	2. Catamitus

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last Time
> 
> Harry was disarmed with a particularly savage swipe that threw him to his knees, dazed, and, knowing that he’d truly lost this one, he went to raise his two fingers in surrender. Hamilcar didn’t stop however, he pulled back, twisting his upper body and he swung with his full force at Harry’s head. He had a single fraction of a second to realise what was happening and he rushed to put his magic to his head to cushion the blow as much as he could. He heard his Doctore roaring Hamilcar’s name, saw the whip going back, but the wooden sword connected with his head with a sickening, echoing crack and there wasn’t even any pain, everything immediately went black and he didn’t feel his body hitting the ground. He was unconscious before he even touched the hot sand.

Chapter Two - Catamitus

Looking to the small, skinny boy lying deathly still in the bed, Oenomaus sighed and thought hard as to what to do with him. Their Dominus wanted him trained into a gladiator, of course he did…he owned a ludus, his business was built on gladiators, but Oenomaus was struggling with this order. The boy was too young, too small, too skinny…he came to the lower chest of most men, to the belly of Barca, the tallest of them, and Oenomaus was not hopeful for the boy’s survival. Especially not when he was still unconscious with the medicus.

“How long until he awakens?” He barked as the medicus shuffled into the room with more supplies.

“It is hard to tell.” The Greek man told him. “He will awaken when he does.”

“Dominus wishes to see him upon the sands.”

“The boy will never survive.” The medicus scoffed. “Why waste the time training him when he is to die anyway? Just leave him to his fate and put energy into more pressing matters.”

Oenomaus wanted to take his fist to the man’s head, but he stilled himself. He was not a man to lose his temper on a whim.

“Tell me as soon as he awakens.” Oenomaus barked and he left the medicus’ rooms to the training sands. He cracked his whip and he watched several slackers tremble in fear. “I don’t remember calling a break!” He roared at them all, glaring at them as they jumped back to their training before they could feel his whip upon their backs.

He watched them all closely, critically, as they all sparred with one another, with weighted shields and lead-lined wooden swords. He kept a close eye upon Crixus and one of the new recruits, Spartacus. They were several men apart, with their own partners, but he didn’t trust them not to come to blows again if the opportunity presented itself.

“Pietros, water.” He barked at the young slave boy and Pietros turned as soon as his name was called to look at him.

He ran to the amphorae in the corner of the training square and he dipped a cup into the one that was opened and ran to give it to him, careful not to spill a single drop. The boy was much more competent than the last boy he’d had as his assistant. He shoved the guilt aside that he hadn’t noticed how badly the treatment of him had gotten until after his death. He needn’t bother with Pietros, who had Barca to look after him. It was Harian now who was the most likely target for such treatment. He was surprised that it hadn’t started already, but he had been watching closely, and Harian showed none of the usual signs of being raped or abused by the other men.

“Doctore, how does the new boy fare?” Pietros asked him quietly, once he’d slaked his thirst, averting his gaze lest he invite trouble.

“He has not yet awakened.” Oenomaus sighed. “Put him from mind and focus on tasks at hand, Pietros.” He handed the empty cup back and sent the boy on his way.

When the day drew to a close and the training sands started falling dark, he yelled at the gladiators to go and get their evening meal. He went back to quickly check on the boy in the medicus’ rooms. He hadn’t moved.

Oenomaus was frustrated and worried. The boy had only taken a blow to the head and he had been unconscious for three days. He cursed Hamilcar for being so heavy handed with the boy. It was supposed to be a training exercise only, Hamilcar had humiliated the boy instead of helping to instruct him, and he’d then gone one further and he had smashed him so hard in the head with his training sword that the boy had crumpled to the floor as if dead. For a moment he _had_ believed him dead. He had called a halt immediately, cracking his whip to ensure that Hamilcar couldn’t harm the boy further, but the damage had already been done, the blackish-purple bruise, when it had come out a day after the injury, had swallowed half of Harian’s head and face.

“He has not changed.” The medicus told him without even looking up from where he was preparing medicine. “I will inform you when he is awake.”

“Allow no one to touch him.” He ordered, more for something to say, before leaving to keep an eye on the other gladiators.

He watched them eat, always on the lookout for trouble. Thankfully Crixus was in debate with Barca, who held Pietros close to his side, and Spartacus was out of Crixus’ view, talking quietly to the nexus, Varro. They were the main troublemakers for the moment, as Spartacus aggravated Crixus, and seemingly Crixus rubbed the recruit Spartacus wrong, though the other men did argue and make trouble when they had a mind to, and fights would inevitably break out while so many men were confined in close proximity to one another day after day.

He ushered the raw recruits into their cells once they’d eaten and had had their time bathing, allowing them to have several minutes to talk and wind themselves down in their cell before he started telling them to get some sleep. It was another hour after this that he got the branded gladiators into their cells and he started patrolling around the corridors, making sure they stayed in their cells and got some sleep. He did not venture to the single cells that led onto the training sands, focusing only on the communal cells inside. He would leave Crixus to himself, and Barca and Pietros to their love making in peace.

He patrolled for some hours, until he retired to his own room, which was only slightly more comfortable than the single cells that Barca and Crixus boasted. He took off his light armour, put up his whip and he slid into his bed, wanting to get a few hours’ sleep before dawn. He prayed that there was no trouble in the night that would force him from his bed early. The perpetrator who dragged him from his sleep this night would face his considerable wrath.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ X

Harry woke slowly, drowsily, as he tried to figure out why his body felt like lead and why his head was splitting in two with a sharp, crushing pain.

‘Hamilcar.’ His thoughts provided for him and he internally groaned to himself. The brute had hit him full force with his wooden sword, when he’d already been down on his knees. He was lucky the blow hadn’t killed him outright and he suspected that it was only due to his magic, and his quick reactions that had called upon it, that had saved him from that grisly fate.

“I’ve told you there is no change!”

Harry heard the shout and he slitted his eyes open to see his Doctore talking to the decrepit medicus. Harry could do a better job of healing wounds than he could, it was just a shame that he couldn’t heal himself while unconscious.

“Doc…Doctore.” Harry forced out of his bone dry throat.

The stern, unforgiving man turned at his croak and strode towards him.

“It seems you were mistaken!” Doctore hissed at the medicus. “You claim him to have no change, yet here he is awakened under your very nose!”

Harry made a confused sound and tried to push himself up.

“Harian, lie still.” Doctore told him and he did as he’d been told.

The medicus was there then, fluttering around him and making Harry’s head throb as he tried to follow the man’s frantic, jerky movements. He closed his eyes, screwed them up and raised a hand to his head, trying to keep his brain in place when it felt like it was trying to slip out of his ear.

“The pain of the blow remains.” The medicus told Doctore as he forced Harry’s eyes open to peer into them. “His eyes differ, see that one pupil is bigger than the other?”

Harry looked into the eyes of his Doctore, feeling drowsy and weak. He was scrutinised critically and he tried to pull himself together, to lie straighter, to try and stop his vision from blurring.

“How long?”

“Another day, perhaps two.” The medicus insisted blithely. “He will never keep his feet if he is forced up and he will not keep to a straight line. He will walk as if drunk.”

“He needs food and drink.” Doctore said. “I will send Pietros.”

Harry heard this discussion going on over his head as if from the end of a long tunnel, but he found he was too tired to do or say anything, he closed his eyes for what felt like but a moment, then he felt a slight touch to his arm and he woke with a gasp.

“Harian, it’s Pietros.” The boy told him. “Doctore sent me with food and water for you.”

Harry tried to focus on the person in front of him, but he couldn’t and it made his head stab with pain. He cradled his head between both hands and moaned.

“Shall I get the medicus?” Pietros asked unsurely.

Harry shook his head. “No.” He croaked. “Nothing he can do. Useless man.”

“Here.”

A cup of water was given to him and he tried to lift his head to drink it, but couldn’t, he tried to sit up, but couldn’t. Pietros put down the bowl in his other hand and immediately a soft, warm arm slipped behind his neck and lifted him up slowly. The cup, which was shaking, almost to the point of spilling, was taken from his hands and Pietros held it to his lips, holding it steady as Harry sipped and tried not to choke or inhale the water into his lungs.

Pietros took the cup from him, pulled over a stool to sit on, right on the edge of Harry’s bed and he put the bowl in his own lap, his other arm still holding him up. Harry was fed like a babe, one spoonful of barley porridge at a time. Pietros was calm, patient, and gentle with him, allowing him to chew and swallow in his own time without rushing him. It took him forty minutes to eat just two thirds of the bowl, interspaced with sips of water.

“Thank you for this, Pietros.” Harry said as the boy, who was actually older and bigger than he was, got more porridge onto the spoon and held it out to him. It was stone cold by now, and congealing into a vile, lumpy mess, but Harry needed it for the energy. He needed to build his magic back up in order to fully heal.

Pietros smiled at him. “It’s hard to see you on the sands. I keep thinking that our roles could be reversed. That I could be in your place, being taunted and hit about.”

“I will survive.” Harry told him. “I’m too much of a stubborn shit to die.”

“Doctore put Hamilcar in the hole.” Pietros told him as he fed him another spoonful of cold, lumpy porridge. “For two days and a night. He was so angry with him for striking you while you were down and going for the missio, he said that it had served no purpose…good in the arena, but not in training as it has stopped you from training for almost a week now. Barca says that it doesn’t mat…”

Pietros stopped himself and he looked embarrassed, Harry smiled up at him kindly.

“Let me guess, Barca says it doesn’t matter if I train or not, because as soon as I get to the arena I’ll just die anyway?”

Pietros bit his lip. “He says you’ll never survive the test to earn the mark of the brotherhood.” Pietros said apologetically.

“I shouldn’t be discounted so easily. I am small and young, yes. I know this, but I am only fourteen, Pietros. I will learn and grow if I am ever given the time I need to do so.”

“You’re fourteen?” Pietros said in shock. “There has been much debate about your age in the ludus among the men, they argue with one another, trying to guess your age, but the others, they insist that you must be older than you look, that you look younger because you’re so small. A boy is not often sold to a ludus until he is sixteen, and even then he will not fight in the arena until he is eighteen. You’re not even a man yet.”

“Everyone’s a man on the sands, Pietros.” Harry smiled. “I have made my peace with such.”

Pietros looked upset, but he dutifully raised the spoon to Harry’s lips, allowing him to eat.

“You shouldn’t be here while still just a boy.”

“Whether I should be here or not, it doesn’t matter, Pietros. I _am_ here and I have to do as I’m told, like everyone else.”

Pietros helped him to drink again and then raised the spoon to his lips, holding it steady for Harry to nibble at and chew in his own time.

“Pietros, you were supposed to give him his food and then come back. It does not take close to an hour to hand over cup and bowl.”

The both of them jumped at Barca’s sudden words and even more sudden appearance and Harry coughed harshly, having swallowed before he was ready in his reflexive fright. Pietros helped him by rubbing his back and holding the cup to his lips so that he could drink.

“Doctore told me to assist him, Barca.” Pietros said. “I am assisting him.”

Barca stood directly behind where Pietros was sat, still supporting Harry upright. He was the tallest gladiator in the ludus, and second only to Crixus who was the champion of all of Capua, and if he had not been used to Voldemort, the Dursleys, and the Dementors, then Harry would have considered himself intimidated.

“Can he not sit up and feed himself?”

“No.” Pietros said, pointedly turning back and lifting the spoon to Harry’s mouth. “Hamilcar almost killed him, Barca. I heard the medicus saying so. He cannot walk or sit up yet. He tried to drink himself, but he could not hold the cup steady.”

“It might have been kinder if Hamilcar had killed him.” Barca said, as if Harry wasn’t lying there awake, and able to hear him.

“Do not say such things, Barca.” Pietros said sharply. “I wish no quarrel with you.”

Barca sighed. “Nor I with you.”

The tall gladiator stood silently then, arms folded, watching as Pietros fed Harry until the bowl was empty. Pietros helped him to finish off his water, by which point it had passed an hour and a quarter and Harry was bone tired.

He was laid down softly and covered over with the scratchy, itchy blanket, Pietros making sure that it covered him and that he was suitably tucked in.

“Thank you, Pietros.” Harry said softly, his eyes already closed. “You’d make a good mother.” He chuckled.

“You offer him insult in front of me?!” Barca growled dangerously, his folded arms loosening at his sides, all the better to attack him if needed.

“No, Barca, a compliment.” Harry said, cracking his eyes open a slit to peer up at the very tall man for a moment before closing them again, too tired to keep them open. “There is no insult in gratitude for kindness and caring.”

“Recover soon, Harian.” Pietros said softly.

His only answer was a soft, gentle snore as Harian’s exhausted body dragged him to slumber.

“I’ve told you before that you should not get attached, Pietros.” Barca told him sternly. “He is not long for this world. He has been laid up for a week, just from training.”

“Hamilcar should not have hit him when he was already down.” Pietros replied, laying a hand gently over the purple bruise on the side of Harian’s face. “We all saw him going for the missio.”

“Hamilcar says that he didn’t see him going for the missio.”

“We _all_ saw him, Barca. Even you.” Pietros said stubbornly. “I do not believe that Hamilcar missed as such stood right in front of him when the rest of us all saw it.”

“In the arena…”

“He wasn’t in the arena, Barca. I understand that he needs to be taught, that he’ll learn through pain and misery, just like everyone else, but Doctore was correct, what purpose did that final blow serve? Two days of missed training for Hamilcar and a week of missed training for Harian. Training that he needs to pass the test.”

“He’ll never pass, Pietros.” Barca scoffed.

“Do not discount him, Barca.” Pietros said angrily as he picked up the empty bowl and cup and he carried them out of the room, turning his back on his lover.

“Do not get attached.” Barca warned again, following after his lover. “I dislike seeing you hurt or upset.”

“He is younger than I am, it is hard…”

“I’ve said before, just because he is smaller…”

“He’s fourteen. It came from his very lips.” Pietros interrupted sternly.

“Dominus would not buy a mere boy, Pietros. He hasn’t got the coin to spare for such useless bodies and the slavers would not have put him in the warrior stock if he’d been so young.”

“Then why buy him?” Pietros asked angrily. “Whether fourteen or forty, why buy him looking as he does? He is no gladiator, he should never have been with the warriors.”

“That is the slaver’s mistake, but Solonius wanted the boy for himself.”

Pietros understood then and he closed his eyes. Dominus had only bought Harian to stop his rival, Solonius, from buying him.

“It was likely a trick by Solonius to get Dominus to buy the boy and waste coin, but it worked.” Barca said. “I pity the boy, Pietros, I do. It is my wish that he were not here, he is too soft and delicate for this, but there is nothing to be done about it. I would not have you upset over his death when it will come soon.”

Pietros was upset at just hearing that, but he said nothing. He would not argue with Barca. He took the bowl and cup back to the eating room, handing them to Euclid and then he turned to hug Barca tight. His lover sighed and held him back, obliging him with a kiss when he tilted his head back and puckered his lips.

“I know you are fond of the boy, Pietros, but there is nothing that we can do to help him. He is too young and too small to be helped in this place, he will not survive the training needed and, if by some miracle of the gods he does, and he gets the mark, he will not last in the arena. He is but a boy, half the size of any of us, and he is going against men, the odds are against him.”

“He’s so soft and sweet. He doesn’t deserve this.”

“Do you have eyes for the boy?” Barca asked then, suddenly, an edge to his voice.

“I do like him.” Pietros said honestly. “As do many others in this ludus, yourself included. After all, who wouldn’t want a boy so smooth and young?”

“You heard that?” Barca asked, recalling his own words from the second day after Harian’s arrival.

Pietros nodded. “I don’t mind, Harian is admittedly the most beautiful boy I’ve ever seen and his eyes…I’ve never seen their likeness before in any other. He is very beautiful and he’s quiet and soft and kind. He doesn’t look at me and think I’m lesser because I’m not a gladiator, he doesn’t order me around or try to hurt me. I do like him, I am attracted to him, Barca, but I can look at him as much as you can. It is you that I love, you who holds my heart and always will.”

“Come, Pietros, let us retire for the night. I wish to hold you after such a declaration.”

Pietros smiled and wrapped his arm around Barca’s back. “No, I want to feel you tonight, Barca.”

His lover smiled down at him then and lengthened his stride. “Let us hurry then, Pietros, if we are to make a night of our love.”

Pietros laughed and he darted off ahead of Barca, reaching the door to the cell that they shared and slipping inside. Barca’s arms wrapped around his waist and lifted him from his feet before he could reach the bed, putting his back to Barca’s chest. He laughed happily and allowed Barca’s hand to grip his chin and turn his head into a kiss as the pigeons cooed softly from their wooden cages. He was turned and placed gently on the bed and he looked up, smiling as Barca drank in the sight of him. He loved the way that Barca looked at him and loved him. He felt so loved in Barca’s arms, under his gaze, and he didn’t care where they were, as long as he was always with Barca.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ X

Harry was up and walking around before dawn the next day. He took a circuit of the training sands and he just looked at it, trying to get a feel of things.

His head felt better today, the splitting headache had trailed off during the night. He still got a bit of tension, a bit of pressure in his head if he turned it all the way to either side, but particularly to the left side…the side that he’d been hit.

“It is a relief to see you up and about, Harian. Even if it is early still.”

Harry turned to face the tall man who had snuck up on him. “Doctore.” He greeted quietly. “I have spent too long in bed as it is. I was getting restless now that I’ve woken.”

“I hope to see you in training then. Go and grab your morning meal before the others rise. You need to eat to keep up your strength.”

Harry nodded and he picked his way across the sand to do just that. Ignoring that he’d broken one of the ‘rules’ of the hierarchy of the ludus. Branded gladiators always ate first. The recruits got what was left and even then it was sometimes tainted or knocked from their hands by the jeering men.

Thankfully he was finished before any of the gladiators got up and he was able to drink a second cup of water before they got their own food.

“You ate before actual gladiators?!” The current champion, Crixus, spat at him, storming over to him. “You? An unbranded piece of shit?!”

“Crixus! If you send that boy back to the medicus then you will answer to the Dominus himself.” Doctore said sternly. “Eat, or you’ll go hungry. Training starts in twenty minutes.”

“Yes, Doctore.” Crixus said grudgingly, while still glaring at Harry. “We’ll finish this later, then.” Crixus hissed to him and then he turned to sit back at his table with Barca, to eat his own barley porridge and bread ration.

Harry ignored him. He’d gotten used to such threats since he’d been here. Worse still were the leers and sexual remarks. At first he’d just blinked stupidly at them all, trying to discern their meaning, and that had been oh so hilarious to the other gladiators. He still didn’t understand some of the things, or positions, that they alluded to, though he now understood the tone of them better than when he’d first arrived.

Some of them spoke strangely in normal conversation too, and he didn’t understand some of the normal, everyday things that they spoke of. They were men of all nationalities, from every corner of the known world, they were of a hundred different languages, himself included, and they had all been forced to learn Latin, the language of their Roman captors, through necessity, but accents and cultural dialects still remained, thus some were harder to understand than others and words were often lost through translation. Harry was grateful that he had started learning conversational Latin to help his spell casting, otherwise he’d have had no idea what anyone around him was saying, and he’d likely be physically punished for it. He was still learning, still struggling with full sentences, but he understood the basic commands that were keeping him alive, and he was picking up more and more words with every day. He had enough grasp of Latin to understand the basic gist of the conversation though, and he could easily fill in the blanks himself. Others didn’t have such a grasp on Latin, and they were much harder to understand.

He did not bend over anymore, though. He had well and truly learnt his lesson within his first few days here as he suffered pinches, slaps, and groping. If he needed something from the floor now, he bent at the knees, not at the waist, though if it was not strictly important, he chose to leave it on the floor, usually where one of the gladiators had taken it from him and thrown it for him to pick up, waiting until he bent down to either attack him or assault him. This was usually a strigil, one of the metal hooks used to scrape oil from his skin as they bathed. Harry had taken to squashing himself in a corner to do this now.

He had been offered protection from such humiliating, painful treatment by several of the leering, groping gladiators, but it came with a catch. They would protect him from their brothers only if he gave them sex whenever they wanted it. He had vehemently refused, much to their continued amusement, but he absolutely refused to use his body to buy anything, let alone something as basic as ‘protection’ here in the ludus. He could fight for himself, and anyone who dared try to rape him would get a full taste of his magic, and it would not be pleasant for the one who had attacked him.

“To the sands!” Doctore roared at them and several men moved immediately to the sand, others shovelled the last spoonfuls of barely porridge into their mouths while others drained their water cups.

Harry went to a corner, on the opposite side of the sheer drop down the cliff. He just couldn’t trust that someone wouldn’t ‘accidentally’ hit him over the edge with a blow too powerful for him to withstand.

“Pair up.” Doctore ordered and Harry swallowed, standing there, waiting for someone to target him. As there was an uneven number of recruits, one of them was always paired with one of the actual gladiators…it was always him.

He was the very bottom link of the chain, the one that everyone liked to kick about because of his slightness. The actual gladiators liked to pick him as a partner because he was easy, it was almost like getting a full day of rest being paired up with him, as they could just kick him down whenever he got up and then just stand there, doing nothing, while he tried to remember where he was and what his name was.

As such there was always a small battle over who got to pair up with him, today it was Rabanus who came out the victor and he approached Harry with an evil smirk.

Harry’s hand clenched on the rough hilt of the lead-lined wooden sword in his hand, which was too big for him as it was, and he prepared as much as he could for Rabanus’ attack.

Their Doctore showed no favouritism and he gave no coddling to anyone. He’d been a gladiator himself, before he’d been promoted to the position of Doctore, thus he allowed the rough treatment of the new recruits and he turned a blind eye and a deaf ear to some of the ‘hazing’ of the recruits. But despite this, Harry noticed him looking his way more often than usual, he walked by him and Rabanus twice as often as he did anyone else and whenever he gave any slight nibble of help or instruction, Harry listened and replicated it to the best of his ability.

Harry spent most of his time on his back on the sand, to much teasing from those around him. He ignored their words and he stood right back up again, trying to block or parry Rabanus’ attacks, but he was always soundly beaten and knocked back to the sand. He took a moment to catch his breath and then he forced himself to get back up…he refused to use the missio, that all new recruits had been taught on their very first day in the ludus, instead he chose to keep getting back up, even knowing that he would be hit right back to the sand.

He kept this up for hours, the sun burning right through his skin, turning him red and making every smack with the heavy wooden swords feel worse.

“Harian, get your back off the sand and do something!” Doctore yelled at him, which gained the attention of everyone in the training square, naturally, and now he also had to deal with gawping, sniggering men who were twice the age of him and who wanted nothing more than his utter crushing defeat…or his death. Harry didn’t think any of them really cared which.

He got a bad feeling of déjà vu, this was how it had started with Hamilcar. He did not want a repeat of that incident ever again. He firmed himself, it wouldn’t happen again because he wouldn’t allow it.

Harry lifted himself back to his feet and he fell into the loose pose that he’d found allowed him to move his body the best. He was getting better and faster at dodging, but he just wasn’t strong enough to either fight back, hold away his opponent, or to disarm him. He was helpless against such pitted attacks as he couldn’t defend himself, his only option was to dodge and keep moving, but eventually this tired him out and he couldn’t sustain it.

Rabanus launched a fresh attack on him, buoyed by the gazes of his brothers watching them as he tried to show off, and Harry dodged and almost danced away, avoiding that wooden sword, looking out for his opponent’s feet or any kicks aimed at him or any attempt of Rabanus’ to grapple him with his free hand, but there was nothing he could do to stop the attack and eventually, he tired himself out with his continuous movement and Rabanus was able to swipe his ribs with the wooden sword, which knocked his breath away, and he was kicked back to the sand. To the raucous laughter of the watching gladiators.

“Rabanus, change with Leviticus.” Doctore ordered and Harry gingerly rolled back to his feet, trying to ignore the pain in his body, he was almost thankful to the Dursleys’ for building up his pain tolerance during his early childhood as he forced himself to stand and face his new opponent.

Leviticus approached him with a grin, and he launched immediately into a series of attacks that Harry almost had trouble following. Fortunately he was able to anticipate where the next attack was coming from and move just a moment before the wood would strike him. He just couldn’t yet use it to his advantage and hit back, but he swore that he would learn to do so.

“Can anyone else see what I am seeing?” Doctore shouted out, even as Harry continued twisting and ducking away from Leviticus’ attacks.

“He anticipates where the sword will land.” Barca called out after several moments of pause.

“He is reading his opponent and he can figure out where the next attack will come from. He moves before his opponent even knows what he is doing himself.” Doctore said, sounding impressed. “Rarely is this seen in any gladiator, let alone a boy without the mark!”

“He is still useless.” One gladiator scoffed.

“He can be trained to fight, Tychos.” Doctore said seriously. “But such instincts in anticipating movement cannot be taught. Crixus, swap with Leviticus. This is not a fight, I want you to go through a series, I want to see if Harian can keep up as he has done with Rabanus and Leviticus.”

Harry sucked in several deep breaths, trying to calm his heart and get his breath back. He coiled his magic tighter about him and he watched closely to the way that Crixus moved, ignoring his evil smirk and promises to break him, instead watching for which muscles bunched and which joints locked for an indication as to which way Crixus would move or what side he was going to come from.

The series was fast and fierce, Harry could well understand why Crixus was the champion of the entire of Capua. He moved his body away from the attacks and before the one attack was over, he had worked out where Crixus would strike next just by scrutinising his body, which was very easy to do as every single gladiator, including him, were wearing just a subligaria, which was a little linen wrap that tied around the waist and tucked into a loincloth to keep them decent, but the branded gladiators also wore thick leather belts to protect their abdomens.

It was all about sequence and patterns and which move would follow easily after the one before it and with a small help from his magic, he was able to move and dodge, knowing where Crixus would aim for next and he could move his body away from where he reasoned the wooden sword would strike.

The next series was faster and more furious as Harry avoided Crixus’ blows and the man got more aggravated that Harry could read his attacks so easily, or seemingly so easily, but it was actually incredibly difficult to do…even if you had magic to help you.

He couldn’t sustain it, he knew he couldn’t, he stood back, trying to convey that he couldn’t carry on, but Crixus followed. He avoided another two attacks through pure desperation, but he couldn’t keep it up, he was exhausted, panting hard, and he got slower. Then Crixus finally landed his series and Harry was battered from pillar to post and he dropped to the sand like a stone under the barrage of blows.

“Crixus!” Doctore roared, cracking his whip. “Do you remember me telling you this was not a fight?!”

“Sorry, Doctore.” Crixus said, though he was smirking all over his face. He wasn’t sorry at all. “I got lost in the fight.”

Harry rolled to his belly and got to his hands and knees, trying to breathe through a mouthful of blood. He got ribald comments for that too, laughs and jeers about him presenting like a bitch in heat to the champion of Capua. Harry hated them all.

He spat out a large amount of blood onto the sand and he stumbled while he got to his feet, almost crashing right back to the sand, but he locked his knees and he stayed up. He refused to give them any more ammunition than they already had on him. He clenched his fists against the urge to hold his sore ribs and he locked his jaw against the urge to vomit.

“How do you know how to anticipate attack?” Doctore asked him.

Harry couldn’t very well tell them his life story, about the Dursleys who would attack him for the slightest misdeed, or just because they felt like it, so he had learnt to duck and weave away from them from his toddler years. Nor could he mention the dangerous world of magic and the attacks that came at him from Voldemort or other means, such as Slytherin’s basilisk or the Dementors, or even Quidditch. He decided to lie, but to give it enough truth so that it wouldn’t be found out.

“I was a healer’s apprentice, Doctore.” He said calmly. “I know how the body works and what direction a person will move in from the tension in each muscle, so I’m able to move out of the way.”

“They let _you_ be a medicus?” Someone laughed.

“I was an apprentice.” Harry reiterated through gritted teeth. “We were chosen and instructed from the knee. I know only as much as ten years training has given me.”

“To me.” Doctore told him and Harry’s heart fluttered in fear, but Doctore moved slowly, watching him, but this was a show for the other gladiators to watch as their overseer tensed the muscles in one leg and Harry twisted to that same side as the man pushed himself to where Harry had been standing a moment before.

A low cut aimed at his belly was avoided by reading the movement and skipping backwards out of reach. A tension through the shoulders and in the belly was harder to read, because Doctore wore a leather covering, a cuirass if he remembered rightly from the books he’d been reading, but Harry didn’t know what it indicated, having not come across this move yet. He used his magic to feel the movement and he spun to the one side only just missing the blow which had come from above, which would have cleaved his head in two had this been a fight in the arena.

This slower, paced attack was easier for him to follow and he didn’t slow down or lose his breath, he could keep up. He had enough time to take a few breaths before he moved again and he showed them all exactly what he could do, the potential he had in him, as he ducked low a swipe that would have taken out his throat.

“You need to learn to press the attack, to use this ability to your advantage.” Doctore told him. “You know which way I’m moving, stab at my exposed side!”

Doctore moved slowly, Harry could follow the move so easily that he had a second to look at the exposed side and he brought up his arm, sword in hand, but before he could even thrust it forward, his opponent had moved too, blocking his exposed side and preventing him from attacking and his advantage was lost.

“What did you do wrong?” Doctore roared at him.

Harry swallowed. “I need to learn to bring my arm up as I’m moving.” He said softly. “So that I’m ready to thrust outwards as soon as I’ve moved.”

“You’re not completely stupid then.”

Harry hunched his shoulders in embarrassment, more so as he heard the circle of gladiators laughing at the insult given to him.

“Again!”

Harry readied himself, getting himself into the pose needed. It was harder to read Doctore, not just because he was more covered, but because he was just a harder person to read overall, but Harry used a touch more magic and he tried to remember to bring his arm up, but he wasn’t used to it and it made him slower and thus he got less time to press his advantage and because of that he completely lost his advantage and then he was punished for it with a smack with the wooden sword.

“Barca, practice with him. The rest of you, get back to your own training.” Doctore ordered. “Some more practice and we might just make a gladiator out of you.” He said quieter, just to him. “Remember to push your advantage, get used to raising your arm and attacking the exposed side.”

Harry nodded and turned to face Barca. Doctore strode off, going towards the villa, and Harry swallowed, looking at Barca fearfully.

“Fucking kill the little shit, Barca.” Rhaskos laughed.

Barca laughed himself and Harry readied himself for some serious pain and perhaps another trip to the medicus. He tried to adjust himself and prepare his mind to deal with the coming pain and he breathed calmly, forcing his heartrate down.

Barca turned to him with an evil look, then the look was gone as he caught sight of something behind Harry. Harry gave a subtle look under the pretence of checking his sandal straps and he could have cried with relief at seeing Pietros watching. Pietros who was not impressed with Barca’s taunting it seemed as he was frowning, almost scowling at his lover.

Barca gave him no warning, but at least he didn’t unleash his full fury or force upon him and thankfully he was not using his weapon of choice, the spear. A hoplomachus had two weapons, a spear, their primary weapon, and a short sword, their secondary weapon, so Barca needed to practice with both. Today was thankfully a day for practice with the sword.

Harry weaved away from the wooden sword, ducking quickly as Barca immediately swiped right, trying to take off his head.

“You are good at dodging.” Barca told him quietly.

“I can’t do both things at once, I can’t dodge and bring my arm up too.” Harry panted. “I try to do it, but because I think about it, it makes my dodging slower and I get hit.”

“You’ll learn or die.” Barca said disinterestedly.

He attacked again and Harry tried, he did, but his first instinct was to always dodge before anything else. He needed to retrain his brain into doing both at once, to dodge on automatic and to bring his arm up and thrust it forward. He wasn’t going to learn to do it overnight, but neither did he have the luxury of time.

“Ow!” Harry cried out as Barca’s sword found his hand. His own sword fell to the sand as his hand released it reflexively in pain. He cradled the hurting hand to his chest with his other hand.

“You’re dead.” Barca said lazily as his wooden sword point prodded his bare chest.

Harry blew out a breath and he scooped the sword back up and he settled himself determinedly, watching Barca’s large body, waiting for any muscle to tense, for any small twitch or movement. He saw it and he moved the opposite way as he saw the counter twitch in the other leg. Barca had feinted left and then moved right.

The big man laughed as he realised that he hadn’t been able to trick Harry.

“Good.” Barca praised him. “Does your healer training teach you to ignore feint attacks too?”

“No, when you feint the muscles don’t fully tense.” Harry explained. “The muscles in the leg you’re feinting with twitch, but the muscles in the other leg fully tense to counter your own movement. Like this.”

Harry showed him how the muscles in his own bare legs moved. The twitch of muscle in the leg he feinted with as opposed to the full tension in the leg he actually moved with.

“How do you notice that and have the time to move yourself?” Barca demanded.

Harry shrugged. “I pick up on it and the reflex is just something I do without thinking, Barca. I was never taught to do it and I don’t think I could teach it.”

“You’ve already taught me enough.” Barca smiled then and Harry felt just a smidge safer.

“All of you, retire.” Doctore came storming back onto the sands suddenly, cracking his whip and scaring more than a few of them. “Go get your meals.” He said. “Harian, to the medicus.”

Barca laughed. “I didn’t think I harmed you that much.” He quipped before turning and moving over to the eating area, gently handing Pietros his wooden sword, giving the boy a soft touch on his way past that had Pietros grinning happily as he locked away the swords.

“Doctore, I haven’t been hurt tod…”

“I didn’t ask for your opinion.” The stern man told him. “I told you to go to the medicus and I expect my orders to be followed without question!”

Harry bit his lip and inclined his head. “Doctore.”

He walked across the sand to the laughter and taunting of the others, seriously did they have nothing else to do? He sighed to himself, of course they didn’t. He was their biggest source of entertainment in a routine that was always the same. Wake up at dawn, eat barley porridge and hard bread, straight to the sands for training, stop when the sun reached its zenith, eat barley porridge and hard bread and have an hour break, resume training after the noonday sun had passed until it started to set, eat more barley porridge and hard bread, go to the baths and clean up, they had an hour or so of free time and then they got locked in their communal cells overnight for their routine to start again in the morning. It was not any wonder that they were all so fucking bored and in need of any sort of amusement, just like caged animals that needed enrichment.

Harry made it to the medicus’ room and he tried not to touch any of the grimy surfaces. It was no wonder that half the people who came here died. They probably picked up a secondary bug or an infection from the vile place…or the vile, unwashed medicus.

Harry was scrutinised, fully checked over and had his eyes stared at for five minutes each, but he was eventually given a clean bill of health, even as his newest set of bruises came through his red, sunburnt skin, dark and vivid.

Harry left the medicus’ rooms and he went to the eating area to get his own food. Barca held out a bowl to him with a shit eating grin and immediately Harry’s radar went off.

“Gratitude, Barca.” He said tonelessly. “But I’m capable of getting my own food. The medicus said I’m fine, you didn’t harm me that much.” 

Harry did just that, getting his own bowl of barley porridge, scraping the bottom of the cooking pot for what little was left, and clutching it tight lest anyone knock it from his hands.

“Don’t you trust me?” Barca asked with that unnerving grin, to the laughter of his brothers.

“About as far as I can throw you.” Harry answered. “And I have doubts that I could even pick you up.”

Harry went to sit on his own, at the end of the table that Spartacus and Varro were sitting on.

“Good choice.” Varro told him. “He pissed in it.”

“I can imagine.” Harry said. “Anyone who has that big a grin on their face while handing me food is either insane or up to something, neither of them would I trust.”

“Are you truly well?” Spartacus asked, looking genuinely concerned.

Harry nodded. “No lasting damage done.” He sighed. “Just bruising now and those aren’t going to go away.”

“No?” Varro questioned.

Harry shook his head. “These ones will heal.” He indicated the ones coming through on his body. “Only to give way to new ones. I bruise easily.”

“How old are you?” Spartacus asked then, gaining the attention of those closest, which gained Barca’s attention quicker than if someone had shouted in his ear.

“I’m fourteen.” Harry said softly.

“Pietros said that you’d claimed as such.” Barca called out.

Harry sighed and looked across the eating area to Barca, and to Crixus who had turned around to face him.

“What is your point, Barca?” Harry asked tiredly.

“Who would buy a fourteen year old to be a gladiator? Little boys usually come to us at sixteen at their youngest.”

“Someone with little sense.” Harry answered dryly.

“Who would sell you as a gladiator?” Crixus scoffed.

“Obviously I _was_ sold as a gladiator, Crixus, because I’m here!”

“You weren’t meant to be though, were you?”

Harry looked across at Ashur who had just hobbled into the eating area and he sneered. He’d hated Ashur from their very first meeting, when the man had tried to one up Harry to get a couple of cheap laughs from the others. He was trying to push Harry down as low as he could to make himself seem better in comparison. Harry hated him and all people like him who tried to make themselves feel better, look better, by walking over others. Harry took a leaf out of the behaviour of the other gladiators. He didn’t like acting, or speaking, like them, but it was the only way to survive here. Emulate the higher ranking gladiators, and pray that he passed his test to become one of them.

“Fuck off, cripple.” He snapped. “Why don’t you do us all a favour and hobble back off to the shadows?”

“You don’t speak to a gladiator that way! You have not earned the mark of brotherhood and nor will you.” Ashur snapped right back, the familiar insult a sting to his pride, more so now coming from a mere boy-whore, half his size, who was still a recruit.

“I see no gladiator before me.” Harry said, which actually garnered him hysterical laughter from the others.

“Nor do I.” Ashur snapped furiously, as those who were supposed to be his brothers laughed and jeered at him as if he were another recruit. “All I see is a whore.”

Harry lifted his chin, knowing then that Ashur knew. Harry decided immediately, then and there, to take the wind from his sails, he couldn’t have this coming from anyone else, especially not the smarmy Ashur. It had to be him who diffused the situation by stating the truth if he had any chance to keep a shred of dignity and respect in this hell hole.

“What is your meaning?” Barca asked, immediately picking up on the hint of smug knowledge from Ashur.

Ashur looked so pleased with himself to have the attention of everyone in the room that Harry wanted to vomit. “He was…”

“I was originally to be sold to a brothel.” Harry said calmly, mildly, taking the relish from Ashur, and the sick smile from his face. “A man named Solonius paid an exorbitant fee for me to be moved from the line of women to be sold as whores to the warriors’ line early, before the bidding opened and before many others were there to see the move. He then pretended to be interested in buying me as a gladiator, claiming that it was rumoured that I had ‘fought viciously prior to my capture and had showed talent’ all to trick your Dominus into buying me instead. It actually worked and that’s how I ended up here with you animals for company.”

“That makes more sense.” A gladiator named Gnaeus told him. “You look like a whore.”

“A would-be whore.” Harry pointed out angrily. He hated Gnaeus, who had been one of the leering, groping gladiators to offer his ‘protection’ in exchange for sex. “I was never sold as such. I actually prefer the company of you dull creatures to being repeatedly raped night after night. I’d rather have the shit kicked out of me daily.”

“You do get the shit kicked out of you daily.” Someone sniggered.

“Have you ever once heard me complain of it?” He demanded loudly, so they could all hear him. “No, and nor will I. My other fate was to be much worse.”

“You might still get raped every night.” Rabanus told him, a dark glint in his eyes that Harry didn’t like.

“You come near me and I’ll gouge out your eyes with my thumbnails.” He threatened seriously.

“There’s always his mouth.” Rhaskos laughed.

“I have teeth.” He said even more seriously, making more than a few of them wince.

“For now.” Gnaeus said softly.

Harry narrowed his eyes on him and he made a mental note to keep a closer eye on him. It looked like Gnaeus had taken Harry’s refusal of his offer of protection in exchange for sex as a personal insult.

“So we get a fourteen year old whore as a brother.” Hamilcar snorted. “You should be used for sport to keep us happy, and nothing more.”

“He isn’t a brother yet.” Rabanus reminded him.

“Not yet, but I will be.” Harry said confidently. “You might hate the thought, but every day I am learning from you all. With every beat down and every bruise, I am learning. By watching you, I am learning and with every day, I get better, even if it is just slightly.”

He got laughed at, but he just smiled and went back to his porridge.

‘Let them laugh.’ He thought as he chewed and swallowed. ‘They won’t be laughing when I get my mark and join their ranks.’

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ X

Quintus Lentulus Batiatus knew by now that he’d been well played and manoeuvred into position like a game piece in war. He smiled as naturally as he could while inside, his mind was racing. He needed to try and get himself out of this position without losing face.

“Harian is not yet ready for the arena.” He tried to say. “He hasn’t even taken the mark of a gladiator yet, he has not passed the test or recited the sacramentum gladiatorum.”

“Let the arena be his test!” Solonius cawed happily, smugly. “It is only a small games, Batiatus. Surely a few raw recruits will be well received by the crowds.”

“And which raw recruit will you be offering up?” Quintus demanded.

“I am afraid that I have none, you took the only recruit I had my eye on at the last market day, but I have a few gladiators in mind.”

Quintus mentally cursed to himself. He knew now that the boy, Harian, had been meant for a brothel, or the home and bed of some wealthy politician perhaps, and that he’d been well tricked into buying him as a gladiator.

He should have known better, no boy who was that beautiful and slender would have been seen as anything other than a whore, especially not with that unblemished skin and those big, dark green eyes, no matter how well he’d fought upon his capture, if that had been the truth of it, of course, and at this point he wasn’t confident of it.

He’d been tricked and pressured into buying the boy by interest, not just from Solonius, but others as well, the bidding had gotten out of hand and unwilling to risk missing an opportunity when others were seizing it so, he’d put in a bid for the boy as well. 

Upon closer, more intimate inspection once purchased and cleaned, he realised the true nature of what had happened. He saw that the boy had no marks on him, he was smooth and flawless, soft to the touch. Those big eyes held a softness to them, as yet untainted by any horrors suffered…the boy had never had to fight for his life, he’d never had to kill anyone. His small hands were still soft and uncallused, they had never held a sword or any working tool. He had cursed himself for a fool as he brought home a boy whore to be paraded as a gladiator, as one of _his_ gladiators…he remembered the looks on the faces of the men when Harian had been brought in through the gate for the first time, they had thought him a new slave boy meant for the villa and had reacted accordingly, once found he was a new recruit to join the others, even they had laughed, he’d heard them from inside the villa.

Oenomaus had reported some strife and difficulty between the boy and the other men, but nothing of note had happened yet. The boy was groped daily, but was as yet unmolested, yet according to Ashur, he was driving his actual gladiators mad with lust and distracting them from their own training. He couldn’t have them so unfocused to their own tasks, he needed them on form and training properly, especially with the Vulcanalia approaching.

He had thought about passing the boy on to a brothel, just to get rid of him and to gain back some much needed coin, and to get Lucretia out of his ear about buying a whore to be a gladiator, but Oenomaus had told him that the boy actually showed promise. So he had made the decision to keep him a while longer to see how things would play out. He now regretted that decision as Solonius wanted Harian in the upcoming games to humiliate him and his ludus further to gain more standing. He would be the laughing stock of the entire republic if he put a pretty little boy whore on the sands to be butchered by Solonius’ gladiators.

“It is hardly fair, to pit an unmarked boy against your seasoned gladiators, Solonius.” He tried again.

“They are hardly seasoned, Batiatus. A few victories from small games like this one, hardly anything to shout about.”

Quintus could feel his temper fraying and he grinded his teeth together.

“It’s a wonderful idea.” The Magistrate, Titus Calavius, insisted. “Something new for the crowds to marvel at.”

Quintus wondered what would be the biggest marvel to the crowds, how a pretty little boy like Harian managed to even be considered as a gladiator in the first place, or how quickly he died.

He had been backed into a corner, and he knew it. He refused to lose face, so he nodded and agreed to put Harian up in the upcoming games. He didn’t want to, the boy was not going to be ready in time, he wouldn’t be ready in a year’s time, but he had no other choice. Solonius had well and truly played him, and now they both knew it.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ X

Harry laid still and caught back the breath that had been knocked from his lungs, six feet away from where he’d been standing, after a massive blow from Litaviccus had sent him flying. Crixus had only just moved out of the way in time, after a warning from Barca, to prevent Harry from flying into him.

He rolled to his knees, stood up, stumbled around and landed back on his arse, falling to his back with his head spinning. He only just managed to control the urge to vomit and even then it was by the skin of his teeth.

“You’ve knocked away his sense.” He heard Crixus laugh from above him. He was given a hard kick for good measure and he groaned with pain, his one hand feeling along the ribs of the side that he had landed on.

“And broken his ribs as added bonus.” Barca added.

“I’m fine.” Harry hissed through gritted teeth, forcing himself to his feet. He teetered a bit, but he locked his knees and he remained standing through sheer force of will.

He trudged back to Litaviccus and tried to steady himself. He would learn from this mistake. He hadn’t seen that move coming, he would be aware of it from now on.

Litaviccus actually tried the same move again straight away, likely thinking that it would be funny, but Harry was a fast learner, even more so in this kill or be killed environment, and he dodged quickly the first move, then the second, and he escaped from the third move that had caught him out and sent him flying six feet through the air. He did have good reason to fear the edge of the cliff after all.

“Good, you learnt after only one mistake.” Doctore praised. “You may yet live to see through your test.”

“He won’t pass, Doctore!” Someone laughed.

Harry swallowed against the fear that that brought up inside of him. Pushing it away under the sheer stubbornness of his nature. He would pass that test, he would show all of them, they wouldn’t be so cocky then, once he proved himself capable of being a gladiator. He didn’t much relish the thought of being branded like cattle, but if the other option was death…well, it wasn’t like he wasn’t used to scars. His hand rose automatically to smoothen down his fringe in a habitual gesture, he’d hidden his lightning bolt scar with magic as soon as it had come back to him, keeping it from the critical eyes of everyone around him.

He moved to practice on his own, away from the other gladiators and he tried forcing himself to bring up his arm as he dodged an imaginary opponent. He was still too slow, he couldn’t get his arm up in time and he was furious with himself for it.

When Doctore called for them to stop, Harry didn’t move off with the other gladiators and raw recruits, instead he stayed where he was, practising with his too big wooden sword, exhausting himself against the hated palus.

“If you don’t go and eat now then you won’t get to.” Doctore told him about half an hour later.

“I’m not hungry.” He said shortly as he twisted and tried to bring up his arm. He judged himself too slow again and growled angrily.

“Missing meals in favour of exhausting yourself isn’t going to help you. You need to eat to gain strength.”

“I just can’t do it!” He said angrily.

“You’re not going to now, you’ve wound yourself up too much and you’re too angry to think straight. Go and get something to eat, that’s an order.”

Harry blew out an angry breath. He handed the wooden sword to the stern man who was holding his hand out for it and he made his way to the eating area. He got a bowl of barley porridge and he sat down where there was a bit of space so he wouldn’t have to sit next to anyone. It was a bit too close to Crixus and Barca for his liking, but Pietros was there, so hopefully they’d both behave themselves.

He was lost in thought, trying to convince himself that he could bring his arm up and twist away at the same time. It was easy in theory, not quite so easy to replicate in practice.

A hand gripped his hair and yanked his head back and he reacted immediately, arching his back and pulling up his knees so that he could get his feet on the edge of the table. He kicked off from the table, sending him barrelling into whoever had a hold of his hair, sending them back into a table, or into another person, Harry didn’t care as the person let go of his hair as he fell, allowing Harry to twist around to face Hamilcar. Harry raised his fist and he aimed straight at Hamilcar’s nose. He felt it break under his knuckles, he heard the satisfying crack as blood spurted everywhere.

He dug his knee low into Hamilcar’s belly, almost to his groin and he put his whole weight upon it, driving the breath from the body below him and he aimed another punch at Hamilcar’s mouth, watching his lip burst this time.

“Touch me again and you won’t be getting back up.” He threatened furiously, picking up his bowl and moving to sit where he no longer had his back to anyone.

“You got your arse handed to you by a boy whore.” Barca laughed.

Crixus laughed with him. “A little boy with no mark.” He added.

“He is like wild cat.” Rabanus laughed. “One touch and he launched attack. No defence to that.”

“No defence?” Crixus demanded, looking offended. “He is half your height and weight, yet he bested Hamilcar as if both were mere boys at play. Perhaps he will survive his test after all, if he is paired with any of _you_.”

Smarting from the insult, on top of the humiliation, Hamilcar got back up and he stormed back over to Harry. Seeing this coming, Harry stood and moved away.

“Fuck off!” He growled. “It’s your own fucking fault for attacking me in the first place!”

“You’ve broken by nose!” Hamilcar said thickly.

“That wouldn’t have happened if you hadn’t attacked me either!” He insisted.

“Hamilcar, get your arse to the medicus!” Doctore ordered. “Harian, you’ve been summoned. Come with me.”

Harry, grateful to get away from the rising situation, moved to the Doctore and left for the villa.

“I see that you’re making friends.”

“He started it. That attack was completely unprovoked, I was only trying to eat.” Harry said stubbornly.

“You’re getting better at looking after yourself.”

“I am learning.” He said.

They got to the gate that separated the ludus from the villa upstairs and a guard let them both through. Harry got nervous then, wondering what was going to happen to him.

“What is this about, Doctore?” He asked softly.

“I don’t know, just stay calm, do not speak unless you are spoken to and remain respectful if you don’t want to find yourself hanging on a cross before dawn.”

Harry swallowed hard and he nodded. He straightened his back and followed just a step behind his Doctore.

They found the Dominus, Quintus Batiatus, in the room just beyond the gate, who greeted him as if he were a truly precious child. It put Harry on high alert. He didn’t trust this strange display and he showed it to his Doctore by giving him a quick glance before turning back.

“Harian, sweet boy, how are you?”

“I am well, Dominus.” He said softly.

“Good, how is your training going?”

“I am learning daily, Dominus.” He said in place of telling the man who had bought him as if he were a piece of furniture that he was getting his arse handed to him day after day.

“Good!” The man said as he placed a hand on Harry’s shoulder and led him over to a pool of water. “It makes me happy to hear that you are doing well. Instead of having a traditional test, you are to have your test in the arena.”

“Dominus, he isn’t ready for the arena.” Doctore immediately jumped in for him. “I have not even started him with a shield or against a spear or trident. He’s too young, and he hasn’t had enough training.” 

“Regretfully there is nothing that I can do.” The man said, sounding apologetic, but Harry knew that he wasn’t. He didn’t care a shit past making money from them. “The games have been set for one week hence. It is only a small games, so there aren’t going to be any big names, just newly branded gladiators and raw recruits to dispatch a couple of noxii, and have a few matches against one another to entertain the crowds, but nothing too grand. Solonius is offering up some men and Magistrate Calavius has asked that I do the same. Solonius mentioned Harian to be put forward and the Magistrate showed interest, I had to agree. Doctore, do what you can with him, but I want Crixus in top shape for the Vulcanalia next month.”

As quickly as that, they were dismissed back down to the ludus below and Harry walked with his shoulders hunched, back down to the training sands with his Doctore. He knew what this meant, he knew what the final order to Doctore had been too. Don’t waste too much on him because he’s going to die anyway, focus on the champion and the best chance for glory and money.

“Worry not about it, I will help you.” Doctore told him, breaking the heavy silence.

“I appreciate the offer, Doctore, but if I am not ready now, then one week will not make much difference. Do as Dominus has suggested, focus on Crixus and leave me to myself.”

“Crixus does not need help, he just needs a foot up the arse every now and then to keep his head focused.”

“I’m not ready, am I?” He said, even though he already knew the answer. “And I’m not going to be ready.”

“Don’t give up before you’ve even tried, Harian.”

“No, I won’t. I’ll fight my hardest. I don’t want to die.” He said. “But being realistic, I don’t stand a chance. I was meant to be a whore, not a gladiator.”

“I heard you say as such to the others. I also heard you say that this was preferable.”

“It is, given the options, Doctore, but truthfully I would prefer neither.”

The man beside him actually smiled, a small smile true, but an honest one nonetheless.

“Do your best and hope for a glorious death.” He said.

Harry snorted. “Glorious? No. A desperate death maybe, Doctore. I refuse to be bullied by anyone, so I will stand my ground, I will not give up until I am no longer able to move, but it will not be glorious. Nothing about this fight will be glorious.”

Harry got a hand to his shoulder, which squeezed tight in support.

“Go and wash yourself up, Harian, and get some sleep. Tomorrow, we start preparing you for your test.”

Harry sighed and he walked off to the baths, ignoring everyone else as he removed his rather tiny subligaria and set to washing himself. He hated these communal bathing sessions, he was always stared at and he always got bawdy comments and suggestions or people trying to touch him, or steal his strigil to try and force him into giving sex acts.

It didn’t take five minutes before Gnaeus tried just that.

“I want to know if you’re as soft as you look.” He smirked, trying to cup Harry’s bum.

“Fuck off, Gnaeus, I’m not in the mood to look at your vile face.” Harry snapped, moving away from him.

“What did the Dominus want? Services from his bought whore?” Rhaskos asked nastily.

“Your mother wasn’t in the villa today, she must have been in the town servicing others.” Harry answered back immediately, without pause. 

Barca and Crixus laughed first, having understood his meaning plainly, it took Rhaskos and some others a few moments to figure out what he’d said, and what he’d implied, and then the laughter started. All but Rhaskos, who roared like a wounded animal and dived at him. A whip flashed out and wrapped around his wrist and tugged the gladiator off balance and onto his bare arse on the rough, stone floor.

“Enough!” Doctore roared. “Finish up and get to your cells!” He ordered. “The next person to make so much as a hint of trouble will spend the night in the hole!”

Doctore watched them all carefully after that, staying in the bathing room with them, his whip a constant threat in his hand.

Harry didn’t dawdle, instead he washed quickly, dressed in his subligaria and went to his communal cell that he shared with the other raw recruits. They would be having their own tests a little over a fortnight after him…where he would either be branded or dead already.

“You should not invite death so quickly.”

Harry opened his eyes to see Spartacus, and his friend Varro, settling down beside him.

“We are slaves of a ludus, Spartacus.” Harry said. “Just to be here is to invite death.”

“You taunt them to your own detriment.” Varro told him. “You are making enemies everywhere, Harian.”

Harry rose an eyebrow then nodded his head to Spartacus. “I think he’s beaten me to that one.”

“He is…well, he’s…a lot bigger than you.” Varro said.

Harry chuckled. “I have survived thus far, Varro. I’m not afraid of any of them.”

“They plan to rape you.” Varro told him.

That did frighten him, but he swallowed hard to control himself and his rising fear. He’d sort of already had an idea that they might have been planning something like that, the look in Rabanus’ eyes had hinted at it, and so had Gnaeus’ words.

“Let them try.” He said as calmly as he could. “I meant what I said before, I have teeth and I’m not afraid to bite their cocks off, or even one of their balls, if they try.”

“I will try to protect you as much as I can.” Spartacus told him, moving to reach out to touch him, casting strange shadows onto the wall behind him. Harry jerked away from his touch, in no mood to be touched by anyone. He didn’t know why Spartacus wanted to protect him so much, but he’d learned that such things didn’t come without a price in this horrific place. It made him wonder what Spartacus’ price was, but Harry doubted that he would want to pay it, regardless of what it was.

“There are five of them…they plan to attack you and Pietros, it’ll be a bad idea, I’ve been here for a few weeks and already I know that Barca will kill them for it, but they plan to hold your arms, one each, with your chest down while a third abuses you. The other two will hold either you or Pietros, then they’ll switch.” Varro told him, trying to get him to see the seriousness of the situation, trying to tell him that there was no way he could fight off five of them by himself, but Harry was already well abreast of it. He knew there was no way he could fight off five trained men.

Harry sucked in a deeper than usual breath. “Then I suppose I’ll be losing my virginity soon then.” He said mildly, ignoring the other two men and rolling back over, pretending to sleep.

“You’re a virgin?” Varro hissed.

“Seeing as I’m only just fourteen, Varro, yes.” Harry snapped. “No more talk of it.”

He was going to warn Pietros though, it wouldn’t be tonight, they would reasonably have to take them before the baths, after the evening meal, because Pietros ate with Barca, but didn’t always bathe with him. Barca wouldn’t miss Pietros in that time if he wasn’t expecting him to be there.

He sighed and tried to get some sleep. Tomorrow he had to try and break words with Barca, without getting any broken bones in return.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ X

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I’m glad that this new fic is being so well received. Thank you for all of your messages, and support, and I hope you enjoy this chapter as well as you did the first.  
> Poor Harry, but I find I just can’t help torturing him. It’s too easy, and so much fun to put him through hardships and pain, but he’s not going to just roll over and take it. His first arena battle is set, and he is to be ridiculously outmatched, but no one knows about his magic, which will definitely come in handy.
> 
> Keeping with the schedule of this fic, the next chapter will be posted a week from today, and you can always join me on Facebook, where I’m under the name Star Mass.
> 
> Until next week, lovelies,
> 
> StarLight Massacre. X


	3. Tiro

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last Time
> 
> He was going to warn Pietros though, it wouldn’t be tonight, they would reasonably have to take them before the baths, after the evening meal, because Pietros ate with Barca, but didn’t always bathe with him. Barca wouldn’t miss Pietros in that time if he wasn’t expecting him to be there.
> 
> He sighed and tried to get some sleep. Tomorrow he had to try and break words with Barca, without getting any broken bones in return.

Chapter Three - Tiro

Harry found it easier to talk to Pietros the next day, seeing as he’d had his head rammed into a post by Rhaskos for his insult about his mother the night before and he had been side lined by Oenomaus until he stopped seeing triple. Pietros was hunched next to him, a wet cloth over the bump on his head and a clay cup of water in his other hand, occasionally trickling water into his mouth for him.

“Pietros.” Harry said softly once he was no longer afraid that if he opened his mouth he’d vomit. “Gratitude.”

Pietros looked down at him and smiled softly.

“You shouldn’t have issued insult.” Pietros told him sternly.

Harry chuckled. “It was funny though. It took him an age to figure out what I meant.” He laughed.

Pietros chuckled himself, despite chastising him for his joke.

“Don’t leave Barca’s side for the next couple of days, Pietros.” Harry said seriously.

“Why? What are you going to do?” He asked worriedly.

“Nothing. Five of them are planning to rape us, me and you. Stay close to Barca and bathe with him all days, not just some.”

“I…I have other duties when Barca bathes sometimes.” Pietros said fearfully.

“Do them after or before, not during. I could maybe fight off two of them, or make a fuck lot of noise while doing so, but not five, Pietros, it’s too many. I want you safe.”

“What about you?”

“Don’t worry about me. You need not suffer the same fate, you have Barca to protect you. He probably would kill them afterwards, but after the event is too late to save you that fate. So stick to him, Pietros, and never be out of his sight.”

Pietros nodded, but he still looked worried, or maybe just fretful.

“Promise me.” Harry demanded.

“I promise.” Pietros said, nibbling his lower lip and looking out to where Barca was training, he had his favoured spear today and he was showing up every opponent, laughing all the while. “Who?” He asked.

“Gnaeus, Rhaskos, Hamilcar, Rabanus and one other that I haven’t heard mentioned by name.” Harry said, visually picking out the four gladiators that he knew of and sneering at them.

“When?” Pietros asked fearfully.

Harry turned to him and grasped his hand. “It’ll be okay, Pietros. I won’t let them hurt you. If it’s one thing I hate more than ugly halfwits that prey on innocent people, it’s when those ugly halfwits plan to rape innocent people.” He said. “I heard talk of it and planned to speak to Barca about it, to save you from knowledge of their plan, but I can’t get close to him. Perhaps this way is better, so that you are aware to not be alone near them. Can you run?”

Pietros nodded. Harry nodded with him.

“Good. If you ever see one or more of them ahead of you, run the other way and make as much noise as you can. Barca will run to you if he hears, and so will I.”

“What about you?” Pietros whispered again.

Harry smiled. “Remember that I’m a stubborn shit, Pietros. I will injure as many of them as I can before I am overpowered…hopefully I’ll even bite off a few balls, though I’d settle for a finger or two.”

Pietros laughed and Harry smiled, ignoring that Barca had swung around from his gloating at the noise of Pietros’ happy laughter to glare at him.

“I heard talk that it would be in the next few days, but if they don’t find the opportunity, then it may be longer. I am expecting them to try today, though.”

“Today?” Pietros fretted.

Harry nodded and touched a hand to his head. “A bit hard for me to fight at full strength if I’ve had my sense knocked away isn’t it? And your duties on this day every week always take you away from the bathing room, do they not?”

Pietros swallowed hard, looking petrified. “They’re going to try today.”

Harry nodded. “They’ve probably been planning this since I first came to the ludus, or perhaps even before then, with just you and then added me when I arrived. Stay with Barca, Pietros.” He said seriously.

“I will. I can do most of my duties tomorrow, I usually do them today as I like lying in with Barca a bit.” He admitted with a smile. “But if I get up earlier, I can pick up those duties in the morning.”

“I’m always awake early, I’ll stay with you.”

“Barca’s cell leads straight onto the training sands, if I shout he can be there in moments. They won’t try then.”

“No, that’s why I reasoned that it had to be during the bathing hour. When your duties took you from Barca’s side and watchful gaze, and where he wouldn’t hear you if you shouted.”

“Gratitude for telling me.” Pietros said. “For warning me.”

“Don’t forget to tell Barca so that he can watch you more closely. What good is his protection if he doesn’t know to look after you? Especially if they plan to attack us tonight.”

Pietros shifted closer to him and slipped an arm around his back.

“I don’t want that to happen to you either. I’ll tell Barca to protect you too.”

“He won’t, Pietros. He protects you because he loves you. I am just an annoying little raw recruit, I’m not even branded, he has no reason to protect me from his brothers.”

“I am reason enough.” Pietros said insistently. “If you hadn’t warned me, I would suffer the same fate, we owe you at least protection from this horror.”

“Look at the sweet, little whores getting close.” Hamilcar said loudly. “Kiss him and give us a show! I’ll pay you an as each, so a bit more than what you’re both used to.”

“What did you say to him?!” Barca demanded furiously, turning immediately as insult was issued to his much loved partner.

“Is Pietros not your little whore, Barca? You keep him like one, though you pay him poorly or so I hear.”

Harry’s eyes widened at the almost suicidal comment as Barca roared like a beast and stalked after Hamilcar, not rushing but taking his time, as if he knew the outcome of this and he was entirely confident that he’d be able to beat Hamilcar to death if needed…and then Harry understood.

“Pietros, this is another part of their plan, a ploy to make it easier to get to us! Barca can’t protect you if he’s been throw in the hole for the night!” He hissed seriously.

“Barca! I’ve hurt my arm.” Pietros said in such a convincing way that Harry nearly believed him when he knew it was a lie.

Barca immediately turned, leaving his advance on Hamilcar and striding over to Pietros, taking the proclaimed injured arm between his large hands gently, probing with careful, gentle fingers for the injury. Harry loved that Barca considered a physical injury to Pietros more important than protecting his name or avenging words thrown at him.

“What happened? How were you harmed?” Barca demanded, giving Harry a side-eyed glare, as he was the only one close enough to Pietros to have hurt him.

“It’s a trick to get you thrown in the hole for fighting.” Harry told him quickly, wasting no words lest Barca realise that there was no injury and turned back to Hamilcar, or conclude that Harry had physically injured Pietros, and attacked him. “He’s provoking you on purpose.”

“To what end?” Barca snapped at him.

“There’s a plot to rape Pietros.”

Harry saw first-hand exactly how much that news affected Barca and he knew then that the two of them truly were in love and that Barca would die to protect his lover.

“How do you know of this plan?” Barca demanded as he held Pietros close and tight to his chest, one hand on the back of Pietros’ neck comfortingly.

“Varro spoke to me of it because they are planning to rape me too. I tried to tell you this morning, but you refused to listen, so I told Pietros. Rhaskos has already tried to incapacitate me so that I am unable to fight back.” He said, lifting his hand to his head. “Now Hamilcar is trying to get rid of you. Once you get out of the hole, it would be too late.”

“I would kill them if they touched him. They know it!” Barca growled.

“It would be too late.” Harry reiterated to him. “Pietros would have already been harmed and violated, all killing them would do would be to see your own death on a cross, then those who would have survived your revenge would be free to rape Pietros as often as they pleased without you there to stop them.”

Barca squeezed Pietros tighter.

“The plan is for tonight, I’m sure of it. Keep Pietros with you at all times.” Harry warned.

“Today is when I usually bathe alone.” Barca noted.

Pietros nodded. “You would not have missed me.”

Barca swallowed hard and looked down at him, those dark eyes glittering dangerously, with violent intent.

“Who?” He demanded.

“Barca, back to training!” Doctore ordered furiously, once he came out onto the sands to see the man cuddling his lover, and not practicing as he should have been.

“Gnaeus is the one who set things into motion, but Hamilcar, Rhaskos and Rabanus are aiding him. There is one more who I haven’t heard mentioned by name.” Harry hissed quickly.

Barca nodded at him, he bent and kissed Pietros hard, gave him a lingering caress and then went back to where he was training with Crixus and Leviticus. He started talking to them and as they glanced over at Gnaeus often, Harry didn’t need to guess at what they were saying.

“Gratitude for saving me such a fate, Harian.”

“Just Harry.” He said. “My friends call me Harry.”

Pietros smiled and sat back beside him, offering him more water and checking on his head.

“Harian, if you don’t get back to training you will not be ready.” Doctore told him.

Harry sighed. He nodded. “A few more moments. I have stopped seeing triple, but I am dizzy still, Doctore.”

The stern man scrutinised him closely, as if he could see any lies, and he nodded. “Five more minutes, then up off your arse.”

“Ready for what?” Pietros asked worriedly as he looked from the Doctore’s retreating back to Harry’s exhausted face.

Harry smiled sadly. “Dominus summoned me yesterday. I’m to have my test in the arena in less than a week.” 

Pietros looked shocked, worried, and sad all at once and Harry patted him gently.

“I was meant to be sold as a whore, Pietros. It is by one man’s trick that I am even here. I was never going to survive this place for long, though I lasted longer than I imagined I would. That same man, Solonius, has tricked the Dominus yet again and he has insisted that I appear in the games being held next week, in place of a traditional test. I’m the only raw recruit attending, the others are newly branded gladiators or they’ve survived a few fights either winning or using the missio, but at least they have passed their tests and earnt their brands.”

“I won’t discount you.” Pietros said firmly, in an echo of Harry’s own words, and Harry was surprised into laughing. He patted Pietros gently.

“I can’t believe that I like anyone in this place, but I actually think of you as a friend, Pietros.”

Pietros smiled. “I’ve never had a friend before!” He said excitedly.

“It might be a short lived friendship, but I’ll always look out for you, Pietros and if anyone harms you, I’ll haunt them to death from the underworld.”

Pietros laughed again and Doctore cracked his whip in their direction.

“Harian, up now!” He demanded. “This is a ludus, not a place for gossip and giggles!”

Harry sighed. “I’ll see you soon, Pietros. Remember to stay close to Barca.”

“I’ll get him to look out for you too.” Pietros said as he stood and went about his duties, fetching water, running around for the things that Doctore or the gladiators needed, slipping a sly grope to Barca as he passed by, when the man was taking a moment to rest, which seemed to really shock and please Barca if the grin he kept sending at Pietros was anything to go by.

Harry went back to training, this time with Doctore, and his instructor was not going easy on him, he was not going slow, he was not pulling any punches and Harry did his all to dodge, trying to bring up his arm to thrust it into his opponent. He even tried starting with his arm already up, his sword poised to thrust, but Oenomaus could parry it away easily. It didn’t help that the new, weighted shield on his arm was heavy and cumbersome and he wasn’t used to it. It kept pulling his arm down lower and if he held it up for any length of time it unbalanced him.

“You will die if you carry on in this manner, is that what you want?!”

“As long as it’s quick and clean.” Harry countered.

“That is not the right attitude to have!” The man roared at him. “If you lose, you embarrass this entire house and all the men here.”

“You’re the one who told me to prepare for death.” Harry said back pointedly.

“A glorious death, not one where you don’t even try and give up before you’ve started! Try again!” Oenomaus’ voice almost echoed around the training square, gaining the attention of the others and Harry gritted his teeth in fury.

He’d had enough of this. How was he even considered as being on the same level as everyone else around him? Of course he wasn’t going to be able to hold his own or have a glorious fucking death! It was going to be pure, savage butchery and he hated that this man was telling him otherwise. That if he only tried harder then he’d be able to…what? Beat men like Barca and Crixus? He snorted, he couldn’t even best the other new recruits and suddenly, just because he was going in the arena, he was to suddenly shit miracles from his arse and put up enough of a fight to die properly? It was a fucking joke!

He sucked in a deep breath and he dodged one way, countered the other and then launched himself to the other side and he swung his sword as hard as he could at the exposed side. It landed with a loud crack and he dropped the sword in shock as he realised what he’d done.

“I’m so sorry!” He cried. “I was just so angry, I didn’t mean it.”

He went red when the swell of laughter behind him reached his ears. He turned furiously to see the other gladiators almost wetting themselves with laughter. Barca was using his spear to keep his feet and Crixus actually covered his face with his hands to wipe away tears of laughter.

He ground his teeth together and hunched his shoulders.

“The first hit you actually manage to get and you drop your sword and apologise for it.” Doctore sighed, shaking his head. “I am almost certain now that you’re completely hopeless.”

“Give him to me, Doctore.” Gnaeus smirked. “I’ll find another use for him.”

Harry glared at him. “You even try and lay your filthy hands on me and see what you get.”

“If you can’t be a gladiator, you can warm our cocks. A more suitable purpose for a whore like you.”

“You actually have a cock to warm?” Harry asked in exaggerated surprise, pointedly looking at Gnaeus’ subligaria. “Where are you hiding it?”

The man advanced on him as another round of laughter took over the gladiators, this time at Gnaeus, but Oenomaus cracked his whip, reminding Gnaeus that he was still there.

“Back to training, Gnaeus. Harian, if you drop your sword again I’m going to nail it to your fucking hand!”

Harry scooped up his sword and bit his lip. “I didn’t mean to hit you.”

The man sighed heavily. “The one hit you get and you didn’t even mean to do it. Harian, what did you think I have been trying to teach you? Have you not been hitting your opponents on purpose?”

“No, I couldn’t hit any of them, but I have been…wary I suppose, of actually hitting them. It would make things worse if they got hit by a raw recruit of my, ah… _stature_.” He couldn’t think of a Latin substitute to use for the word stature, so he said the word in English, but indicated his small size with one hand so that Doctore might have some context as to what he meant.

Oenomaus groaned and Harry could almost see him repress the urge to give him a backhanded smack.

“You do understand that in the arena that it’s kill or be killed.”

Harry nodded.

“I have no inclination as to what to do with you. I spend a week trying to teach you to attack, yet you drop your sword and apologise as soon as you land a blow.”

“I don’t like hurting people.”

Oenomaus sighed heavily and shook his head.

“You need to put that behind you!” He told him sternly. “Again, and if I think you’re holding back I’m going to throw you in the hole.”

“I hit you or you kill me?”

The man lifted a questioning eyebrow.

“Well, the filth comes up to the other gladiators’ chests…it’ll be over my head and I’d drown.”

“Are you being a little shit with me?” The man smiled.

“No, Doctore…just pointing out the lethal nature of the hole for me.”

“If you can hit me again, I won’t throw you to your death.”

Harry nodded and he slipped into his favoured pose. He dodged with ease, twisted, ducked and then leaped backwards. He ducked and even rolled over on his knees to avoid a downward blow while he was ducked down. He surged up and twisted away from the next series and as he moved, he pulled his arm across his own body and the very tip of his sword just scored his opponent’s leg, barely leaving a mark behind to indicate it. In the arena however, with a real sword, that would have been a good, debilitating injury to give his opponent.

Neither of them stopped, Harry sucked in deep breaths to control his heartrate and the exhaustion. He tried a defensive series of his own, interweaving it with attempts to hit his opponent, until an opportunity almost landed in his lap. He turned twice instead of once as usual, putting him at his opponent’s back and he stabbed forward quickly, hitting under the armpit with what was a potentially fatal blow if this had been a true fight in the arena.

“Well done, much better.” Oenomaus said happily. “Keep that up.” He turned from him and surveyed the others for a moment. “Alright, stop, go for your evening meals!” He yelled out. “Harian, keep up your strength now. Food, sleep, and don’t get injured.”

Harry nodded, wondering how that was going to be possible when he was being targeted by five other men. He sighed and pushed it from his mind, he stood with Spartacus and waited to get his own food.

“You. Here.” Barca snapped at him, pointing to the other side of Pietros.

“What do you want, Barca? I want to eat in peace without looking at Crixus’ hideous face. I can’t eat if he’s turning my stomach.”

“I will kill you.” Crixus growled.

“Get in line, Crixus, there’s a queue.”

Harry sat next to Pietros and felt his hand squeeze his knee. He ate slowly.

“What is this about Gnaeus trying to rape you and Pietros?” Barca asked softly, under his breath now that he had the time to discuss it at length. “Where did you hear of such?”

“Varro warned me of it, he watches them play dice sometimes if he wrangles a few minutes of free time and Gnaeus came over talking about it, he didn’t see Varro there. When he didn’t react to the information, they let it lie, but he heard enough. He warned me last night and I warned Pietros. I have assumed that it is going to be tonight, but if they fail they could easily try again.” He said quietly.

“You’re sure it’s five of them?”

Harry nodded. “Two to hold the second one still, one on each arm and the fifth to do the deed.”

“Gnaeus, Rabanus, Rhaskos and Hamilcar, you’re sure of those names?” Crixus demanded, leaning over the table.

“Rhaskos just tried to knock me unconscious and Hamilcar tried to get Barca thrown in the hole for the night and out of the way.” Harry said. “Gnaeus is the one who was talking about it, that is how Varro came across the information, and Rhaskos, Hamilcar and Rabanus were the ones he was speaking to. There is a fifth in their plans, but Varro never heard a name.”

“You can trust Varro?” Barca asked him.

Harry nodded. “I can.”

“Pietros, stay within sight at all times.” Barca told his lover seriously. “I would not have you harmed.”

“Harry too.” Pietros said stubbornly.

Barca sighed heavily. “You stay within sight also.” He said grudgingly to Harry.

Crixus laughed. “Your boy holds you cock and balls, Barca. He pulls, you follow.”

“As it should be in love.” Harry said with a smile.

“How are you getting on with a shield?” Pietros asked.

Harry grunted. “It’s too heavy.”

“It’s a tiny hoplomachi shield!” Crixus said in disgust. “Let us hope you’re not classed a murmillo, you would never move a scutum.”

“It matters little now.” Harry said. “I won’t be here after a week.”

“Where are you going?” Crixus asked. “Has Dominus finally seen sense and sold you to a brothel.”

“No, I am to have my test in the arena in the games next week.” Harry said calmly. “That is why Doctore has started me immediately with a shield and is praying that I am not paired against a hoplomachus.”

“Why would Dominus put you forward?” Barca demanded.

“He was tricked into buying me by Solonius, who now wishes to see his plan of humiliation complete by backing Dominus into a corner and forcing me into the games. I am to be the only raw recruit participating.”

“You’re going to die.” Crixus told him easily, as easily as if he were discussing the weather.

Harry nodded, even as his heart skipped a beat in fear. “I know. Doctore is trying to teach me enough so that I die well and I’m not just butchered like meat on a slab.”

“You will humiliate this ludus!” Crixus growled.

“Your Dominus did that himself when he bought me. He must have known that this would be my end.”

“He must have thought he’d have more time.” Pietros insisted softly. “The others don’t have their test for another half month.”

“At the least if I had not survived the test I would have been a waste of coin, now I’m to die on the sands, in front of a crowd.”

“You will, as you apologise for landing blows.” Barca told him.

“I don’t like hurting people without just cause.” Harry shrugged and ate another spoon of porridge.

“You are too soft for a ludus.”

Harry nodded his agreement. “I know that too. I’m trying, I just…the thought of killing anyone for sport makes me sick. Maybe it’s better that I won’t survive. How do you…how do you get over killing someone else for sport?” He asked seriously.

“We’re all in the arena for the same purpose. We are not burdened by choice for we have none.” Crixus told him. “You give your opponent a glorious death.”

“Doctore said the same. What’s glorious about being butchered like a sheep in the market?”

“The honour of fighting at your best!” Crixus said passionately. “If you give your all and it is not enough then you have the right to an honourable death.”

“As does your opponent if they fight with their all and you beat them.” Barca added.

“What about raw recruits who can’t hold a shield and have just learnt how to dodge and strike at the same time?” Harry asked.

“You’re going to die.” Crixus reiterated.

“So the best I can hope for is quick and easy?” He asked.

“If you put up a fight, yes. Otherwise you might just be cut up slowly for amusement.”

“Butchered.” Harry translated.

The two gladiators nodded. Harry sighed and prodded his porridge before lifting it to his mouth and chewing.

“Great. Abducted, beaten and now raped before I get butchered to death, what a life.” He said angrily.

“Stay close. I can bear you near me for a week.” Barca told him.

“Gratitude.” Harry said before he drank some water.

After they’d finished eating, Harry took all of their bowls back to the cook and then slid in beside Spartacus and Varro.

He saw the confusion in the faces of those who had concocted the plot when Pietros went to walk out onto the sands, as usual, only to be tugged back by Barca.

“Barca, I have duties to attend to.” Pietros told his lover loudly.

“None more pressing than bathing with me.” Barca declared.

“I’ll be behind tomorrow.” Pietros laughed.

“Just for once.” Barca pressed.

Pietros made a show of sighing, but he cuddled in tight to Barca and allowed his lover to pull him off to the bath house.

“That was nicely played.” Varro said. “Your warning got across then?”

Harry nodded. “Barca is going to keep Pietros close to him.”

“Harian?” A voice called out loudly.

Harry turned and he scowled at Rhaskos who was approaching behind him. “What do you want?” He demanded.

“I wanted a word.”

“Well here’s two words for you, fuck off.”

Harry pressed his lips into a line when he heard Varro suppress a laugh beside him.

“I just wanted to apologise for throwing you into the palus.” Rhaskos insisted.

Harry knew then that this was the trick to try and lure him away from everyone else and get him on his own. He took a breath and tried to keep a step ahead.

“Apology accepted.” He said and he turned to walk to the bath house.

“I…I wished to apologise better.” Rhaskos tried.

“No need.” Harry insisted. “You’ve apologised now, we’ve said all we need to, Rhaskos.”

Harry walked away towards the bath house and Spartacus clapped him on the shoulder.

“Well handled.” He said.

Harry smiled.

“I can handle fools of all kinds.” He insisted.

Barca came striding down the corridor, glistening with oil and wearing just a linen cloth tied haphazardly around his powerful hips.

“I told you to stay in my sight!” He growled. “Pietros is getting upset.”

“I was with Spartacus and Varro.”

“I don’t care. I told you to stay in my sight, not theirs.”

Harry was gripped tightly and tugged off towards the bath house. He shook his head at the two other raw recruits and he soon found himself sat next to Pietros.

“Are you okay?” Pietros asked him.

Harry nodded. “I was with Spartacus and Varro. Rhaskos tried to lure me off on my own, but I’m not completely incapable of looking after myself.”

Harry started bathing himself in the strange way of these times, rubbing himself over with olive oil and then scraping it off with a little metal hook called a strigil. It removed everything, dirt, blood, sand, sweat, but it didn’t smell particularly nice, so Harry always dipped in the pool afterwards, washing his hair off and the lingering smell of the oil.

He was always pink and clean after bathing and as always, he fended off the unwanted attention from the other men. One squeezed his bum and he growled.

“Touch me again and you’ll be missing your balls!” He threatened as he turned to see Litaviccus.

“I can’t help it that you have such a fuckable arse. It’s so soft and plump, it’s perfect for ramming.”

“Fuck off!” Harry hissed.

“Don’t touch him.” Barca snapped, after an insistent prod from Pietros.

“You can’t have two boys, Barca! You have one cock, you need one hole to fill.” Litaviccus complained. “Leave one of them for the rest of us to play with.”

“If I want them both, I’ll have them both.” Barca said, pulling Harry back down beside Pietros. “Are you going to stop me?”

Litaviccus glared, but he didn’t challenge Barca, who was very formidable and was one of the oldest surviving gladiators in the ludus. He was as such for a reason, no one would dare challenge Barca, not even if they thought that him having both Harry and Pietros to himself was unfair.

Harry stayed with Spartacus and Varro once they were done bathing, going back to their communal cell. The established gladiators had some free time, the new recruits were locked up together right after bath time. Harry was safe for the night, and he had no doubts that Barca had whisked Pietros off to their own shared cell, he would be safe for the night too. He could sleep easy.

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- X

Harry was hard at work, trying his best to hit Oenomaus while reminding himself that he did actually have a shield on his arm. Not that it did much except make him lose the feeling from shoulder to his fingers when he caught a blow on it, though that was certainly preferable to losing his arm completely.

His arena battle was going to be the day after tomorrow and he was still hopeless. He didn’t get a moment of rest from his Doctore, he even missed the midday meal to carry on training, though Crixus and Spartacus had chosen today, of all days, to start on one another and Doctore had had to go and break them up, interrupting his training, much to Doctore’s fury.

“Barca, Harian. You’ve been summoned.” Ashur relished in telling them.

Harry stopped and looked to his Doctore first.

“For what purpose?” Oenomaus demanded of the slimy, oily Assyrian.

“I did not ask, Doctore. Dominus was observing from the balcony and he told me to send him Barca and Harian. I know not what for.”

Harry narrowed his eyes. “You do know.” He said simply. “It’s written all over your smarmy face, you filthy rat. You’re behind this summons.”

“I assure you, I am not.”

“I don’t believe you.” Harry said as he walked to Barca, who was talking to Crixus and Leviticus about watching over Pietros until he got back.

“We’ve got him.” Crixus said. “Just hurry back.”

Harry walked with Barca stiffly and he looked back at Ashur’s smug face.

“Something about Ashur grinning makes me uneasy.” Harry said to Barca. “Whatever this is, he’s behind it.”

“I wouldn’t put it past him, he is a snake in human form.” Barca said as they were let through the gates by the guards and they entered the villa via a stone stairway.

“Barca, Harian. Come.” Their Dominus called to them from behind several drapes of cloth.

It was instinctual, or perhaps deferential, but Harry slipped back half a pace and let Barca take the lead.

“Dominus, you sent for us both.” Barca said respectfully.

“I did, yes, yes. Come, sit. I have heard news that greatly troubles me.”

“What is this news, Dominus?” Barca asked. “How can we help?”

“How is your training going, Harian?” Batiatus asked him instead of answering Barca.

“Well, Dominus.” He said softly.

“Good, good. The games are in two days, which only gives you one full day of training left.”

Harry thought this an odd comment to make, as the man had summoned him from his training to talk to him. Surely it would have been better to just leave him to keep training. He, of course, voiced no such words aloud, but he could not think of anything to say, thus he remained quiet.

“To the pressing matter at hand then. There are rumours that have reached my ears that you’re a virgin, Harian, are they true?”

Barca stiffed beside him so suddenly that Harry shot him a look.

“Don’t look to Barca to answer for you. Is it true?”

“I don’t know why this matters, Dominus.” He said, trying to think of something to say, but he didn’t know the danger here. He didn’t know how to answer or what to say.

“So it is true.”

“I don’t know what to say.” He admitted.

“The truth, Harian, before all the gods.” The man insisted firmly. “You are a virgin.”

Harry nodded once. “I am.”

“No secret delights with a girl, no tryst with another boy or a man?”

“No. I have never wanted to do such things. Those sorts of urges haven’t come to me yet, I’m too young for them.” Harry said quietly.

“Have you ever been touched by another?”

Harry closed his eyes. “Prior to coming here? No, Dominus.”

“Since you’ve been here?” The man pressed relentlessly.

“The men try to grope me and fondle me, nothing more.”

“You have never penetrated anyone, nor been penetrated?”

Harry tried to force down his blush. “No.”

“Barca, you know what you must do.” The Dominus said, making a play of sighing. “Don’t injure him, he fights in two days.”

“Dominus.” Barca said stiffly.

“I don’t understand.” He said, his heart hammering in his chest.

“I don’t know what barbarian land you come from, but here there are certain laws that must be adhered to, Harian.” Batiatus told him, giving him a disinterested look up and down. “We cannot send a virgin to their death, such a thing is barbarous and would bring down the wrath of the gods. You are to fight in two days, you need to not be a virgin at that time.”

Harry felt like he’d been kicked in the head. He shook his head. “No.” He said, his voice unsteady and shaky.

“Barca, there is a bed in that room for your use. You can return to the ludus once you are done.”

Batiatus turned and he walked away. Harry stood quickly and made to run off, he didn’t know where he would go, but the urge was instinctual, and desperate, but Barca was quicker, perhaps anticipating that he would try to run, and he had stood and had a grip on his arm and around his waist before he’d made it three steps. Harry immediately went into fight mode and tried to get free, even as Barca easily picked him up off his feet.

“If you struggle it’ll hurt worse.”

“I don’t want this.” Harry cried, struggling harder. “What about Pietros?”

“We have been ordered to do this.”

Harry was quivering as Barca dragged him to the bed that had been offered to them, ignoring Harry kicking him as hard as he could.

“Please don’t.” He begged.

“Don’t make this worse than it already is.”

“Barca, please.”

“Shut up and lie down.”

Harry shook his head, fighting and kicking at Barca.

“Harian, we’ve been ordered to do this.” Barca told him with a growl, as if that would make everything alright as he manhandled Harry onto the bed, pinning him on his back, one hand caging both his hands above his head, the other pressing low on his stomach, pinning both hips down so he couldn’t use his legs, or try to roll away.

“I don’t care!” He said, the tears that had been welling up finally falling.

“Don’t cry!” Barca snapped at him. “Stop making this worse!”

“Barca, please.” He sobbed.

“I’ll be gentle, just don’t fight.”

Unable to fight Barca off, and now unable to kick or hit him because he’d been pinned down on his back, already tired from a half day of hard training, and resigned to his terrible fate, Harry went still, but he cried harder. He had thought that nothing could be worse than being forced to fight to the death for sport. He had been wrong. This was worse, that it was Barca made it all the worse because he truly liked Pietros. Pietros who probably wouldn’t want to even look at him after this, let alone remain being his friend.

“Just stay still, I’ll be quick.”

Harry whimpered as his subligaria was removed, but he didn’t move past the light quivering that was making his whole body tremble.

Barca’s big hands were warm as they gripped his soft sides and then moved down to his bony hips, then to his legs. He had to force himself not to fight or cringe as his legs were parted.

“It could be worse.”

“How?” Harry snapped tearfully.

“It could be Gnaeus who was ordered to do this.”

That brought Harry’s haunches right up. “I wouldn’t have, not with him. I would rather be taken by a half-dead, flea bitten mongrel than him.”

“As I said, it could always be worse.”

“It’s the thought of Pietros.” Harry sobbed. “You’re not a bad looking man, Barca, your personality could use some work, but it’s Pietros that stabs the heart the hardest. He’s my only friend here. I don’t want to lose his friendship because of this!”

“I am his lover.” Barca told him unsympathetically. “I am being forced to lie with another. I have no choice, I cannot even consult him, yet whether he agrees or not, it’s not his choice either. We have no choice, Harian.”

“Please be gentle. I cannot fight if I am half crippled.” Harry relented.

“Don’t fight me.” Barca told him.

Harry covered his eyes with his arm and he went quiet, stilling himself. He flinched with every touch that Barca gave, from the testing of his wet fingers to the press of them into his body. He tried to imagine something else, anything else. Trying to bring up Ron and Hermione’s faces worked for a while, then he imagined Sirius’ face. They’d only just been reunited when he’d been snatched away from what was promised as a forever home with his godfather. It just wasn’t fair. He could be living with Sirius right now, expecting to go into his fourth year of Hogwarts. Instead he was a slave in the ancient Roman Republic, forced to fight as a gladiator in a fucking ludus and right now he was having his virginity forcibly taken from him by his friend’s lover on the orders of one fucking man. This place was even more fucked up than the books described, they hadn’t even gotten it half right.

Nothing could have distracted him from the pain of Barca sliding into him and he couldn’t hold back the howl of pain as his arms jumped to Barca’s shoulders, his nails biting hard into dark skin to ground himself from the awful sensations, trying to push against Barca, to shove him away, but Barca didn’t even move half an inch, Harry was too small, too useless to move the bigger man away from him. He couldn’t even move Barca, let alone fight him off. He panted instead, almost on the verge of hyperventilating, and he squeezed his eyes closed to the point of pain.

“Barca.” He cried. “Hurts too much.”

“Breathe.” The surprisingly gentle voice coached him.

One large hand slid under the back of his neck, cradling his head and fingers started rubbing, nails scratching and tugging only slightly. The soothing action helped him to take in deeper breaths and he loosened his nail-biting grip on Barca’s skin. He’d left marks and there was blood under his fingernails. He hoped that Barca wouldn’t hold that against him. Or Pietros for that matter, as it was his lover he was marking up.

The first thrust was agony and caused him to cry out again, the second was only slightly more bearable. It was around the seventh when he started getting used to the sensation and as he got used to it, he relaxed more, which made everything better.

“That’s it.” Barca’s strained voice cut through his hazy thoughts. “Good boy, keep breathing.”

Harry was actually starting to like him. He could have made this all about blood and pain, ruining any chance he had of surviving his first fight in just two days’ time, but he hadn’t and Harry was strangely grateful to him for that.

He made a soft sound and his hips pushed up into Barca’s without him thinking about it. He caught on to Barca’s rhythm and his arms around Barca’s neck were no longer to ground him or to anchor him against the pain, but were to hold him closer. His hips met every thrust that Barca gave and his knees came up as much as he could get them with the big man between them, his legs crossing over Barca’s lower back. His cries were no longer of devastation or pain, but of a grudging pleasure.

He hadn’t meant to like this…this forced removal of his own virginity, but Barca was right, it could have been so much worse, and the man was being gentle. He let out a soft, happy sound and he felt Barca move quicker in reaction, holding him closer, one arm holding around his back, the other hand still cradling his head. Harry heard Barca’s own sound of pleasure in his ear and suddenly this wasn’t a chore to either of them, this wasn’t something that had been ordered of them and Harry lost control of his magic as it fed into Barca’s body. He could feel old scars, little areas that still caused pain or discomfort, the latter his magic removed in a sudden, strong burst that brought the both of them to an explosive orgasm and left Barca gasping, ramming himself forward as he emptied himself into Harry’s body, as Harry clung to him like a limpet and locked his arms and legs, refusing to let go as his magic travelled from him, through Barca and brought messages back to him like little wordless letters. Harry knew what each tendril of magic was telling him about Barca, about old injuries, new ones, how his heart was currently pumping as fast as his own. It was so disorientating that he ignored the spoken words, he ignored that Barca was talking to him in favour of exploring the messages his magic was bringing back, how he then sent it back to Barca to fix any damage his magic had found.

“Harian.” Barca’s voice finally got through to him and he blinked, looking slowly over to Barca and focusing on him. His magic came back to him one last time and as Barca pulled slowly out of his body, the connection was broken as Harry regained control of his magic.

Barca reacted as if he’d been immediately doused with cold water. He shivered with the cold loss of pulling out of Harian.

“What was that?”

Harry blinked. “Sex?” He asked. “Did we do it wrong?”

Barca looked at him, then frowned, obviously thinking hard. “No, we didn’t do it wrong. Come, let us go back to the ludus. You need to rest.”

“We need to tell Pietros.”

“No. Not a word to him about this.” Barca growled, suddenly furious and harsh.

“Ashur knows, Barca. He will hold it against you, perhaps blackmail you with the knowledge, or tell Pietros himself.” Harry said sternly as he wiped off his belly and his thighs with the sheet. “It will be worse coming from him. We were ordered to do it, Pietros will understand, but he needs to know immediately what has happened, before anyone else can take that control from you and tell him themselves. He will wonder why you hadn’t told him, why you hadn’t trusted him, he will question why you tried to keep it a secret and it will be that, not this, that will drive a wedge between you both.”

Barca looked resigned as he heard the logical truth of things. “I will tell him.” He said sadly.

“If he needs to blame anyone, tell him that it was my fault. If I’d had known what being a virgin meant in Rome, I would have lied and spared all three of us this fate.”

Barca patted him and lifted him up. Harry hissed as a terrible ache in his lower back started.

“Fuck, that hurts!” He cursed, his hands going to his lower spine. “Did you have to shove all of it in?” He complained. “Wouldn’t it have counted if you’d only used half? You must know that you’re bigger than normal men.”

Barca laughed then, happily, in a smug way that was all male pride.

“It’s not funny, you arse.” Harry whined. “How am I supposed to train when I’m hobbling as if you’re still inside me?”

Barca gave him a smile and Harry couldn’t help noticing that he actually looked handsome when he smiled. Barca helped him to dress in his subligaria and then helped him hobble out of the room. They left the dirty, bloodstained sheets to be cleaned by others.

“Ah, the deed is done?”

Harry kept his head down lest he glare at the Dominus and risk getting himself and Barca into trouble.

“It is done, Dominus, but Harian cannot walk without aid.” Barca answered.

Harry peeked up to see the worried frown…not for him personally no, but for the loss of coin he represented, he was almost a farm animal to this man…only a farm animal was actually well cared for. The only ones shown such care here were the old gladiators, those who had been here the longest and had proven their worth a hundred times over, like Barca, and of course the current champion, Crixus.

“Rest him for today, then see what he’s like in the morning. As soon as he’s able, get him back to training.”

“Dominus.” Barca agreed with a simple incline of his head and he turned, escorting Harry back to the ludus below. When they reached the stone stairway, Barca was lost in his thoughts, trying to think of a way to tell Pietros what had happened without hurting his much loved boy when Harian’s voice broke through.

“Barca.”

“What?”

The other man turned to see Harian stood on the top of the steps leading down to the ludus still, a pained, pinched look on his face.

“What is it? What’s wrong?”

“The stairs, I can’t…” Harry went pink and he tried to step down, only to almost fall headlong down them. He gasped with pain and closed his eyes, leaning against the stone wall for support.

Barca sighed and came back up the stairs and picked Harry up, carrying him carefully down the steps.

“How does Pietros walk normally and even run after sex with you? You really are a beast.” Harry complained as he was set back on his feet at the bottom of the steps. “At least I know now how you got that name.”

“He is used to me. He doesn’t tense every muscle in his body, he’s relaxed and happy and it makes everything easy and pleasurable.” Barca explained. “Things aren’t forced or ordered from us, we can go at our own pace and I can work to relax him and pleasure him to the point where he is ready for me. I pray that I am never forced to do as such again.”

“Just remember to tell him, before Ashur does.” Harry warned. “I’m sure it was him who told Dominus about me being a virgin.”

“No one knew, it would have been the talk of the men, they would have made it a game, a thing of pride to be the first man to ever take such a beautiful boy. Who did you tell?” Barca asked.

“It was an offhand comment to Spartacus and Varro, neither would have told.”

“One of them must have.” Barca insisted with a bite to his voice, likely already thinking of ways to punish the two of them for forcing this onto him, onto them both, and onto Pietros too, for he would be involved as soon as he was told.

Harry shook his head, thinking back to the night that he’d casually let slip that he was still a virgin without knowing the danger of his own words, without knowing of the danger that he’d just placed himself in. “I saw a shadow move, Spartacus moved at nearly the same time, I thought it was the candlelight casting reflection, but now I am sure that Ashur was listening behind the corner of the cell. That must be what he does, listening at our cells to glean gossip not for his ears to use to his advantage. I can put my life on Spartacus or Varro not saying anything, but Ashur’s face when he delivered the summons, he knew what was going to happen, Barca, it was written all over his smug face.”

“Let us not give him the satisfaction.” Barca insisted. “Smile and laugh.”

Harry chuckled. “I like the way you think, Barca. That little fucking shit will not get the best of me.”

He split away from Barca a bit and they slowed their pace, so that Barca could keep up with him. Harry put a smile on his face and Barca did the same, just as they came to the sands. It was the midday meal and they moved to get their own barley porridge, Barca handing Harry a bowl.

“Ah, so you return.” Ashur all but purred loudly.

“I will not smash him in the face. I will not smash him in the face.” Harry chanted under his breath, just loud enough for Barca to hear, and it made the big man give a surprised burst of genuine laughter. He clapped Harry gently on the shoulder and put his bowl down before pulling Pietros into a hard, lingering kiss.

“Put him down, Barca. The boy needs to breathe.” Crixus complained good-naturedly.

Harry sat next to Pietros and wrapped an arm around him, laying his head on his shoulder for a moment before moving to eat his porridge.

“What were you summoned for? You were gone for a long time.” Pietros asked.

“Yes, what were you summoned for that took over an hour to complete?” Ashur grinned.

“I will not smash him in the face.” Harry whispered. “I will not rip out every tooth and gouge out his eyes.”

“Dominus wished to speak to us.” Barca said, but he shot Harry a laughing grin.

“He seemed to be under the impression that I wasn’t ready for the arena.” Harry added.

“You’re not.” Hamilcar laughed at him.

“I fight in two days.” Harry said mildly.

That wiped the smiles from their faces.

“You haven’t passed your test! You don’t have the mark of the brotherhood!”

“My test is to be in the arena.” Harry said.

“You’re going to die.” Rhaskos laughed.

“Then you won’t have to worry about me then, will you?”

“You should come to our cell, get a good fuck before you die.” Gnaeus laughed.

“I believe he has already done so.” Ashur said, but Harry took the attention from him with an immediate outburst.

“I wouldn’t fuck you even if it meant my freedom!” Harry cried out. “You’re fucking filthy! Not to mention that whole messed up face thing you have going on. You’d have to put a cloth over your head just so I wouldn’t vomit from looking at you. Even then the smell of rancid pig that clings to you would threaten to turn my stomach.”

Barca and Crixus laughed and Harry considered everyone suitably distracted.

“Still making friends, Harian?” Oenomaus asked him, from where he’d hurried over when he’d heard his shouting, believing that a fight was imminent.

“Of course, Doctore.” Harry said sweetly. “Who _isn’t_ queuing up to be friends with the great and noble Gnaeus?” 

Barca snorted and Crixus laughed again. Pietros nudged him with a shoulder and smiled.

“You’ve missed an hour and a half of training, I expect you back on the sands after the noon sun passes.”

“He’s to rest for the rest of the day, Doctore.” Barca said immediately. “By order of the Dominus. Tomorrow too if he is not better.”

“For what purpose?!” The man roared. “A day and a half of missed training, so close to such a fight? I would not have it so! Tell me for what purpose this rest has been granted?!”

Harry gave a sharp look to Barca, and then stood carefully. He walked away slowly, Barca followed, tugging Pietros with him. They went to the corner of the training sands, where they could see anyone who tried to get near.

“What is this about?” Pietros asked, looking worried.

“Ashur is a fucking snake, that’s what.” Harry said, holding his belly and locking his knees to keep his feet.

“You’ve been injured.” Oenomaus observed.

“Barca’s fault.”

“You were ordered to beat him?” Pietros asked, upset.

“The only thing he has beaten is my lower spine.” Harry quipped.

“What is your meaning?” Oenomaus asked, though he was a smart man, Harry could see that he already had the right idea forming in his head.

“Pietros, I’m sorry…”

“We both are.” Harry interjected genuinely.

“I was ordered to have sex with Harian.” Barca finished softly. “By Dominus’ orders.”

“For what purpose?” Pietros asked quietly, trying and failing to keep the hurt from his voice and expression.

“Ashur overheard a conversation I had with Spartacus and Varro. I was a virgin, Pietros, and Ashur told Dominus, who had Barca remove that problem for me before my fight in two days where I am expected to be butchered. I didn’t know that Romans won’t kill virgins, if I’d known, I would have lied.”

“Why Barca?” Oenomaus asked.

“I have no doubts that Ashur put forward the worst names possible. Gnaeus, Hamilcar, or perhaps even himself.”

Oenomaus shook his head. “I’ve told Dominus of your differences with Gnaeus and Hamilcar. He would not have wanted you injured over this matter.”

“Then I’m sure the possibility of Barca came up, the only one here who is known to have a boy lover every night. Ashur meant to hurt the heart, when he failed to hurt the body. Barca is Pietros’ lover, I am his friend. With Barca being forced to fuck me on orders, the grudge that can build is a strong one. That was Ashur’s intent.”

“How long did it take Ashur to report this to Dominus?”

Harry scoffed. “A week ago I mentioned it to Spartacus and Varro in a casual comment, the only time it has ever been mentioned. He has waited as long as he feels he can to cause pain and ruin my chances in the arena. I will miss training today because I can barely walk and perhaps tomorrow too if I am the same. I will be sore as well. He must have wagered coin against me and he is ensuring the odds will fall into his favour.”

“I have bet coin with him for you to win.” Barca chuckled.

“You have?” Harry asked, a little touched.

“I always put a coin on the gladiators of this ludus, for luck. Your odds are ridiculously high…as you have said, you are expected to be butchered.”

“Well it seems that they will get their wish. I am in no state to fight. I am not ready. I am obviously expected to die if I had my virginity forcibly removed just because Romans won’t allow virgins to die.”

“You were overly rough with him?” Pietros asked Barca angrily, and Harry knew then that Pietros was not going to hold this against them.

“Of course not, Pietros. I took great care with him. More so than I do with you. I know you can take me, Harian is much smaller and easier broken.”

“It is only my spine that you have broken.” Harry said.

“I will get you some herbs from the medicus.” Oenomaus said. “Go to your cell and sleep. You need the rest. I will have someone bring your evening meal to you there.”

Harry nodded. “Gratitude, Doctore. Know that you’ve done your all for me. If I fall on the sands, it is no fault of yours.”

“Ashur is to blame.” Pietros said, his face pulling into a sneer. It looked misplaced on his usually sweet face.

“Leave Ashur to me and Crixus.” Barca said. “That cripple tries to claim himself a gladiator still, tries to throw his weight around and pretend that we are beneath him. No longer.”

“I have not heard this conversation nor any threat issued.” Oenomaus said with a sly smile. “Harian, to your cell.”

Harry tried to walk normally, but he was limping rather noticeably now and those who knew what to look for, could easily discern the strangeness of his gait. They didn’t know for sure, of course, but when had that ever stopped them from teasing him? After the first cat calls, everyone knew why he was walking as such and he grit his teeth against their comments.

He made it to his cell and he crawled into his bedroll. He let the pain wash over him and he cried as quietly as he could. He didn’t blame Barca, the other man had been ordered to do it, the same as he had, and neither of them had wanted to do it. Like Pietros, Harry blamed Ashur and he would have his revenge on the filthy Assyrian who was trying to play with them as if he was a Roman master, and not a slave the same as they were.

Harry fell into a fitful sleep and he rested his tired, sore body, setting his magic to try and heal the aches and pains, hoping desperately that it would aide him, as he’d never had to force it to do as such before. He needed to be ready for his fight in two days. Ashur had tried to sabotage that by having him raped, and technically Barca had been raped too as it had been ordered of both of them, with no way for either of them to refuse or say no. Because of that Harry would fight until his last breath if he needed to, to show that snake up rotten and lose him his money. He swore it.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ X

Pietros had stayed as close to him as he possibly could the next day, hovering around him at all times, fussing and feeding him, getting him water even though he hadn’t asked for it, trying to prove that their friendship was still close to his heart despite what Harry had done with his lover. Barca was doing the same only in different ways, stopping the worst of the hazing towards him using his upcoming fight as a convenient excuse, stopping any attempt to touch or grope him immediately and throwing a casual arm over him in a show of claiming him as his own; now and then he’d even bend to kiss his hair, or the top of his head.

It was all a show to help them save face, after learning that Ashur, in a fit of rage at being unable to harm Barca or Pietros as he’d wanted, had told the other gladiators what had happened with great delight. That Harry had been a virgin and Barca had broken him. So Barca was now claiming both him and Pietros, which, as it had before, was upsetting the other gladiators. They still thought it unfair that Barca got two boys when they had to pay for whores with their monthly allowance, successful fights willing. None of them would challenge him though, the Beast of Carthage demanded respect and fear in equal measure, but they grumbled and complained about it.

Today was the day of his first arena fight. He’d been gifted with a teeny little cloak that the other gladiators had ribbed him for and a nice, knee length tunic that might have been rough and itchy, but it was something that was just his. He was dressed ready to leave, he’d been allowed as much of a lie in that morning as he could get and he was exempt from the morning training. He’d fished out his one single denarius, that he’d hidden right down at the foot of his bedroll, and he’d tucked it into a little cloth purse that Pietros had gotten for him, and placed it in his subligaria, tying the strings securely to his belt. Once up and dressed, he’d gone out to the eating area, but he’d barely been able to eat anything, Barca had almost forced the barley porridge down his throat, telling him sternly that he’d need the energy to fight.

“How much energy does vomiting drain?” Harry had demanded.

“Grab hold of your cock and be a man.” Barca had replied. “Keep your stomach where it belongs.”

Harry scoffed, kicked his feet up on the bench and put his head in Barca’s lap. Barca ignored him.

“One last suck of cock before death?” Rabanus laughed.

“I need the extra energy that Barca’s seed gives.” Harry replied easily. That got him a laugh from Barca, who put his hand down to play with his hair.

Pietros, on the other side of Barca, touched his face and Harry flicked his eyes to him and smiled.

“Fight your hardest.” The boy told him. “Come back to us.”

“I will. I’ve had the best teachers, I’m certain I can at least hold my own for a while. I have a purpose now…to wipe the fucking smile from Ashur’s face.”

“Remember you have a shield.” Barca told him seriously.

Harry still hadn’t gotten used to the shield on his arm and he often forgot about it in favour of dodging. Most of his afternoon training yesterday, once he could walk in a straight line without limping or hobbling, had been forcing him to use his shield.

“Stupid fucking shield.” Harry complained.

“That stupid fucking shield will save your head from being parted from your shoulders.” Crixus told him.

“I can fit my whole body behind your shield.” Harry giggled. “I felt like a turtle.”

Pietros laughed as he remembered when Harry had tried Crixus’ shield yesterday, once their Doctore had gone up to the villa and couldn’t give him a lash of the whip for acting as a child. He’d pulled it on top of himself and crawled around the training sands with it on his back, at least until Barca had prodded his spear into the curved gap and flipped it off of him when he’d accidentally crawled into his legs. 

“Don’t do that in the arena.” Barca told him. “Or you’re like to be speared and shelled like a turtle.”

Harry giggled. “I’ll have my little hoplomachi shield in the arena, not a scutum.”

“Harian, it’s time.” Oenomaus told him. That wiped the smile from Harry’s face as quickly as it had come. He felt sick and his heart skipped a beat and then hammered out a tune on his ribs. It was beating so fast he felt sure that it was going to explode.

Harry sucked in a huge breath and he took a moment to calm the automatic sense of panic that threatened to overwhelm him. He sat up and then stood.

“Good luck.” Pietros said, standing with him and pulling him into his body for a tight hug. The other boy kissed his forehead gently.

“Remember what you’ve been taught. You’ve trained for this.” Barca said, not standing, but he did wrap an arm around his tiny waist and squeeze for a moment. They were of a height together when Barca was sat down and he was standing.

Harry nodded and he turned, forcing himself to walk forward, he reached his Doctore and then he carried on walking.

“Bring him home, Oenomaus!” Barca called out. He got a hard glare for daring to use the man’s name, and not his honoured title, but he didn’t get whipped for it, or punished, as their Dominus was already waiting and the time couldn’t be spared.

Oenomaus caught up to him. “What is the haste?”

“If I stop now then my legs will fold on me.” Harry said. “I don’t want them to see me so scared.”

“Calm your heart.” Oenomaus told him as they met with their Dominus, who was waiting at the gates at the far end of the training sands.

The gate led straight out onto the path down the mountain to Capua beyond, right from the training sands, and Harry allowed his hands to be chained together by the guards, who then opened the gates and they walked through and Harry controlled himself and his breathing. He could do this, he had to do this, he had no other choice. He kept putting one foot in front of the other, focusing on moving, and trying not to think of what was going to happen once he reached the arena, or the fight that he was going to be forced to participate in.

The walk to the arena was so long, and so tense that Harry was almost hyperventilating. Oenomaus walked at his shoulder, probably to keep him from running off, not that Harry would get very far considering he was dressed as a slave, and had his hands chained together. The first Roman guard to spot him would either capture him, and Harry would be returned to his ‘master’ branded as a fugitivus like Kerza, or the guard could just run him through with a sword. Harry was a slave, not a person, so it wouldn’t even be called murder.

“Calm yourself.” Doctore coached him suddenly. “Breathe deeper.”

“It’s…it’s difficult.” Harry said stutteringly. “Why is walking so difficult?”

“Because you know what’s to come. Calm yourself and remember your training.”

The walk was long, and tiring in itself, the arena was crowded, with flocks of people flooding into the entrances. The morning bouts were not really exciting enough to draw large crowds, noxii executions, beast fights, but nothing much more exciting than that. It was the afternoon fights that the people flocked to see, if they could afford them that was, though there would be no big names in this small games put on for a small member of the Capuan nobility, at least the people could expect to see gladiators fighting. Well, real branded gladiators and him.

“Dominus?” Harry called out. The man turned, his face a picture of puzzlement.

“Harian, what is it?”

“I was wondering if I could place a coin on myself, please, Dominus? I only have the one. For luck.” Harry said, looking at the sole bet maker that could be seen.

“Will it help you?”

Harry nodded.

“Of course. Doctore, escort him. Quickly now.”

Harry moved to the bet maker and pulled out his one silver Denarius from the purse that he’d tied to his belt, tucked into his subligaria to keep it from view. If this was his only chance to spend it, he’d take it. If he lost, it wouldn’t matter overly much, if he won he might just have some more silver coins to bet with the next time.

“No funny business, Harian.” Oenomaus warned him, his hand tightening on his whip.

Harry looked at him confusedly. “I really do just want to make a bet, Doctore.”

“On what?” The bet maker grunted.

“The tiro Harian in the fifth bout.” Oenomaus said for him, as Harry had no idea how to do this.

The man laughed. “His odds are terrible! Save money for something else.”

“One Denarius.” Harry said, placing it down with his chained hands. He got a wooden marker chip back from the laughing bet maker and he handed it to Oenomaus. “Can you look after this for me, please? In the unlikely event that I actually come back for it.” 

The man smiled at him and then led him back to where their Dominus was waiting, the bet maker still laughing behind them. He held his chin high and straightened his back. He’d show them all.

Inside the arena, they were led through a small door that was just for the gladiators and their retinue, away from the main entrances. So they didn’t have to trudge through the crowds. He was placed in a cell by himself and he was left to wait for his name to be called. Oenomaus stayed with him.

He paced as he heard the roaring, the screaming. He could see through the lattice grille onto the arena sands, but he refused to look. The first of the noon day fights was taking place.

“There’s been a change of fucking plan.” Their Dominus raged as he came striding over.

Harry’s heart flipped with fear.

“He is not in the fifth bout anymore, Dominus?” Oenomaus asked.

“Yes, he is against that gladiator of Solonius’ in the fifth bout still, but he’s in the second bout too, against two noxii.” Batiatus cursed violently. “This is Solonius’ doing, I swear by the gods I’ll fucking kill that man. Doctore, prepare Harian, I need to go and try to save face. They’re all laughing at me up there, with my whore of a gladiator. Lucretia was right, I should have sold him to a brothel while I had the fucking chance, then they would not be able to mock me and laugh in my fucking face.”

Harry ignored that, keeping his head down and his glare on the floor until, with another curse, Batiatus left back for the stands. He looked up at his Doctore, knowing his eyes were too wide and panicked as his breath came faster than ever.

“Two?” Harry questioned, his lower lip trembling. “I’ve never trained against two opponents before, Doctore.”

“You do your best.” Oenomaus said immediately. “If one comes at you from one side, you keep the other in your sights. Do not let them pin you between them or against the wall of the arena and do not turn your back to either of them.”

Harry swallowed. “It’s after this fight, isn’t it?”

“Calm your heart. You’ll do fine.”

Harry wished he believed that even a little bit. The wait was agonising, the sounds from beyond the cell he was in was worse. He still refused to look through the grille.

When it was finally his time, he could have fainted from fear.

“Harian, calm yourself.”

“That’s okay for you to say, the sword actually fits in your hand.” Harry snapped. “I’m not cut out for this.”

“Then give in and die well. Not like a child, sobbing against the wall. There will be no mercy and no reprieve. You kill them, or they will kill you. Remember that you don’t need to look for the pollice verso in this bout, you are fighting noxii, they are expected to die.”

Harry swallowed as he was led out to the gate that led onto the sands. He had to stand there, watching the two men who were already on the sands as they were pelted with rotted fruit and even empty clay pots. They had no armour like he did, but they were armed with pugiones, little daggers that would just as easily kill him…both men were taller than he was, even if they were quite unkempt, what with being prisoners set for execution.

“I don’t know if I’m going to vomit or shit myself.” Harry said, his whole body trembling. “Maybe both.” He added as his stomach lurched and a pressure on his guts made him squirm.

“You don’t want to do either, that’s just the fear talking. Push it aside and focus on what needs to be done.” Oenomaus told him.

Harry was hyperventilating again as his Doctore placed his helmet over his head and buckled it securely for him, and then his gate was opened and he walked onto the sands, trying to keep his knees from folding under him as he approached the two men. Then the size difference became apparent and the crowd laughed at him. He knew what he must look like, in his mismatched armour that had been cobbled together from a child’s cast offs, wielding the small shield of a hoplomachus and a gladius that he could barely handle. He looked like a child dressed in his father’s war gear, trying to play with soldiers.

“You are to be our executioner? I have a mind to be offended.” One of the noxii scoffed.

“Perhaps the bribes were enough, perhaps this is the answer?” The other queried.

“Begin!” An eager, enthusiastic voice roared out.

Harry kept calm and he breathed as deeply as he could manage to control his panic. He noticed that the two men were doing exactly as Oenomaus had said they would, they’d split up, and they were coming at him from different sides, splitting his attention between the two of them.

Winding his magic tighter about him, he knew that he couldn’t get caught on both sides, nor pinned down between them, with one at his back and one at his front. He immediately threw himself into a dive towards the one man, ducking the swing he had known was coming and jabbing his sword at his opponent’s unprotected belly. The man dodged, but Harry was able to circle around him and get the two men on the one side of his body, where he could see them both and no one was at his back.

It was surprisingly easy to block out the noise of the crowd, he’d been able to do so during Quidditch matches too, only the odd noise or shout filtering through. He ignored the taunts of the two men too, they had been sentenced to die, they were noxii, condemned to execution as they were either murderers, rapists, deserters, traitors or other such foul criminal types. He had been set as their executioner. He wasn’t much of one, but he wanted to go back to being in his little bubble, with the other gladiators. He wanted to see Pietros again, even Barca was growing on him, in a stern, abrasive way. He’d even take seeing Crixus again if it meant that he could survive this and go back to the ludus.

The noxii tried to wear him down, but Harry had his magic to draw energy from and he was able to parry and dodge as well as he could in the ludus, keeping them both at bay. He realised immediately when they changed tactics, when one was keeping him busy with a full frontal attack while the other slipped around his back, hoping that his attention stayed on the one at his front…he wasn’t that stupid or oblivious to their tactics, he threw himself into a forward roll, towards the man at his front, and he swiped out as soon as he had his feet, still hunched down on his knees, and he dragged his blade as he sprang back to his feet…that was how it became a one on one bout, as the one man choked on his own blood as Harry gingerly pulled his sword out of him, from where it had stuck on a rib as Harry carved out his unprotected belly. The noise of metal grating on bone was new and terrible, he shivered with the weight of what he’d just done, but he was not out of danger, not yet, and he didn’t have the luxury of being able to stop and absorb what had just happened as he had another opponent still to kill.

He turned to face the remaining man and he tried to hold his stomach in place. He was not the most graceful of gladiators, he was sure. Barca could spear someone like a flag on a pole and Crixus could cut off a man’s head with nary a thought and with just one smooth glide of his arm, his sword just another part of his body. Crixus looked almost like he was dancing when he was training, Harry could well imagine the man in an actual fight on the sands. Harry was doing his all just to stay alive and not to stumble around like a fool, but he was clumsy and ragged around the edges, he hadn’t had the time to hone any skill with a weapon. He’d needed more time.

In the end there was no flourish, no drawn out battle of clashing sword against dagger, he was getting tired, a dangerous thing in the arena that could spell his death as he slowed down, and the remaining noxius had scented his fatigue like a bloodhound. Harry could almost see him coming to take advantage of his inexperience, of his apparent youth, they both knew that if he was drawn into another full frontal attack, then he would likely fall. Thus Harry had an idea, a desperate idea, and he dived backwards, not forwards, and he rolled over when he reached the fallen body of the other noxius. He picked up the dagger that was still in his opponent’s lax hand and he stood back up quickly, his shield at the ready, just in case he was being charged, but the man had barely moved in his confusion at Harry’s strange actions. Thus, with a little help from his magic, he brought his arm back behind him and he threw the dagger as hard as he could. It embedded itself in his remaining opponent’s head, right down to the hilt, right between the eyes, and the noxius fell back dead, his eyes and mouth still wide open in surprise and the beginnings of understanding horror.

There was a moment of shocked pause after the second body hit the sand, then the crowd went wild. Screaming, shouting, a mass of moving, cheering bodies and Harry did as he’d been instructed on automatic, almost mindlessly as he raised one arm to the crowd and hurried off the sand. He all but fell into Oenomaus’ arms.

“Well done, Harian.” The man praised genuinely, touching his back gently, soothing him, calming him down as his body shook uncontrollably.

Harry’s jaw chattered and he clung to Oenomaus tightly, refusing to be parted from him like a lost, terrified child who’d just located his father in a crowd.

“Come, let us get you something to drink.”

Harry was tugged away, back to his cell and he was urged to sit down. He did so, curling into himself and he started crying.

“Calm yourself.” Oenomaus soothed, sitting beside him and holding out the cup of water.

Harry was still shivering and he sipped the water, trying to calm his breathing, trying to stop his tears.

“I killed two people who have never done anything to me.” He choked out.

“They were sentenced to die, they were conspirators in a plot to murder a member of the nobility. If it hadn’t been you, it would have been someone else, if not, they would have been thrown to the beasts earlier in the day, but no matter the manner, they would have still died.”

“I feel vile.” He cried.

“It’ll pass.” He was told. “You did well, why did you never mention that you could throw daggers?”

“It never came up.” Harry sniffled, as opposed to telling his Doctore that he’d never thrown a dagger in his life and that his magic had done all of the work.

“Any other talents that you’re hiding, perhaps a proficiency with the bow?”

Harry laughed then, and he knew that Oenomaus was trying to take his mind off things, to make him feel better.

“No, I’ve never touched a bow, they’re too big, like the swords. Daggers were the only thing that I could handle easily.”

“Normally I would caution against throwing away your weapon, but…”

“But it wasn’t actually my weapon.” Harry pointed out.

“Exactly.”

They lapsed into silence and Harry refused to look out onto the sands, where the third fight had just been told to begin. It was more noxii to be executed.

“How are you feeling?” Oenomaus asked him.

“Cold.” Harry answered.

His face was cupped and his head was forced back to look at his Doctore, so that the man could see his eyes.

“You’re in shock. Let me get you some food.”

The last thing that Harry wanted was to eat and put anything in his roiling stomach, he was barely holding onto his belly as it was, but he had to admit that the hot sausage that his Doctore brought back smelt amazing and it was the first thing he’d eaten in weeks that wasn’t barley porridge…only the branded gladiators got a ration of bread.

He ate it slowly, savouring it, though not so slowly that it went cold. He was enjoying the hot food.

“I would have bought you a cup of wine too, but it affects the young more potently and I want you at your best for the next fight. Get through it as well as your first and it will all be over and you can go back to the ludus to bathe and sleep.”

“The next fight will be harder, won’t it? I know the first was against two men, and that this one will be against just the one man, but he’ll be a trained gladiator, not a noxius.”

“Keep your head. You can dodge like no one I have ever seen before. Use it to your advantage.”

“It’s…it’s better and worse on the sands.” Harry said. “The pressure of knowing that one mistake could cost me my life makes it worse, but for that very reason it makes me better. I’m hyperaware of where everyone else is, I can almost feel the blade as it comes towards me and I can dodge it easier. I just don’t want to be here.”

It took close to an hour for him to be called again, in the last fifteen minutes Oenomaus had had him up, pacing the cell, jumping up and down and generally warming up to loosen his muscles ready for his next fight. Then the fifth bout was announced. Harry swallowed hard.

He tried to keep his mind blank, but he’d never been very good at doing that, and his thoughts raced through his head. Images of Pietros and his smile, images of himself dead and bleeding out on the arena sands with a sword speared through him…he whimpered like a kicked puppy.

Oenomaus touched his shoulder and squeezed tight.

“You’ll be fine.”

“I wish I could believe that.”

“Believe in yourself. I have faith in you, Harian. Get out there and kill that bastard so we can go home.”

“I can never go home.” Harry said softly. “I don’t have a home left to go back to.”

He walked onto the sands before an answer to that could be given and he couldn’t help but notice that he was getting cheers. It seemed that after his first fight, the crowd favoured him just a little more than his opponent, a gladiator they already knew and had seen fight before. Perhaps he wasn’t very good or didn’t give a good enough show?

Harry sized up his opponent when the man came out onto the sands (the lesser known opponent, or the one expected to die, always came out first and in this bout it was naturally him), who must have been chosen purely for his size, as he was six and a half feet tall and towered over him. The size difference looked absolutely ridiculous.

“Come on, baby whore. Come to your death.” The man taunted.

Harry noticed that he was a murmillo, like Crixus, and he had the turtle shield. From Crixus he knew that the man also had a gladius, like he did, and also a pugio, that would be tucked into his belt. Perhaps he hadn’t been chosen just for his size. He was going to prove difficult to attack, but he also knew from Crixus that that shield was heavy, sooner or later it was going to become a burden to keep holding it up. He prayed that he actually lived that long, he was thankful that he hadn’t been pitted against a hoplomachus like Barca…he wouldn’t know what to do against a spear and he couldn’t learn such things in the arena where every mistake or miscalculation could mean his death.

“Begin!” The editor called out from the pulvinus, a walled off balcony for the wealthy, elite Romans to watch the games in comfort, away from the screaming, stinking horde of plebeians.

Harry’s murmillo opponent launched into an immediate full frontal attack, which almost caught Harry off guard. He ducked and then dodged immediately to the one side, avoiding the series of swipes with the short sword by sheer dumb luck. His heart hammered in his chest as he realised that this fight was not going to be even half as easy as the fight against the two noxii. His opponent was more skilled for one, more muscled, he was a trained gladiator and had spent every hour of every day training. For another, he was better armed and he had armour, unlike the noxii who had just been in subligarias. Then there was the scutum, a full body, curved shield that he had to try and get past.

He dodged another series of attacks, looking out for an added move, such as the one that Litaviccus had caught him out with on the training sands, and he tried to press his advantage, but the side that wasn’t covered by the shield was covered with armour.

He ducked low a swipe that was aimed at his chest and he saw a weakness at last…he jumped back and he avoided another series, listening for the tell-tale grunt as his opponent, a big man with heavy equipment, tired himself out with his constant movement. Harry taunted him into moving continuously, poking out his sword to force him to dodge himself, moving back to draw in his opponent, tiring him out and wearing him down.

He pulled his magic tight to himself, like a comforting, security blanket. He was forced to catch a blow on his shield, which automatically made his left arm fucking useless as it went numb from shoulder to fingers. He needed to get through the heavy armour soon, otherwise he risked tiring himself out too, like his fight against the two noxii. He still wasn’t used to the heavy training. He’d only been at the ludus for a little over three weeks, not even a full month. He needed to do something, or his inexperience was going to kill him.

Oenomaus looked on from behind his Dominus in the pulvinus. He dared not even breathe as he watched the youngest gladiator he’d ever known or heard about on the sands, fighting a man twice his size, who had seen battle and gladiator fights before. His hands were mottled, clenched tight with the urge to shout out, to tell Harian what to do. Not that the boy would hear him, he knew from his own time on the sands that the noise from the crowd blended into one loud, roaring sound and slipped from notice.

“Move your fucking feet!” Batiatus yelled out, having no such knowledge of fighting for his life on the sands. “Do something!”

Oenomaus ignored his Dominus, who had been manoeuvred into fighting Harian by the laughing, smug man sat next to him.

“The whore of house Batiatus is no match for Niarchos.” Solonius said with a grin, getting a laugh from the man sat in front, the editor of the games.

“Truly, Batiatus, buying a boy whore to put on the sands is going too far to gain the interest of the crowds.” The editor said with a cruel smirk.

Oenomaus wished to tell them all that it was no accomplishment to have a sizable gladiator butcher a too young, raw recruit of only three weeks, but he held his tongue in favour of watching Harian closely. He was afraid to even blink in case he missed a crucial moment.

He tried to will Harian to attack, to try and do something, at least then if he got the chance to use the missio the crowd would be more favourable to him if he’d put up some sort of fight. Though the boy had as yet refused to use the missio in any of his training fights. He had forced the boy to do it, to show that he could, to show that he actually remembered it, but since then, Harian had refused to use it, except for his fight against Hamilcar, that was. He suspected that Harian had been moving to show the missio when Hamilcar had almost struck his head from his shoulders. Harian preferred to get up and just keep fighting, over and over. He refused to give in and that was the potential that he had seen in Harian from the start. He didn’t let anyone walk over him, he didn’t give up and he was a very quick learner.

“First blood to Harian, Dominus.” He said with a muted, satisfied smile as he watched the young boy take a huge leap backwards, only to duck down and swipe from the left, across his own body, to get past that big shield. The murmillo he was facing, Niarchos, came away with blood on his chest. It was only a small scratch, but Harian had managed to draw blood, incite the crowd to him as they cheered raucously, and it wiped the smug grin from Solonius’ face as Batiatus looked to where Oenomaus had directed him and he leapt to his feet cheering exuberantly.

“You see that, Solonius?! That’s your Niarchos falling to my Harian!”

“Falling? So the whore has managed to scratch at Niarchos, as a cat being drowned will scratch at the hand. In the end, like the cat, he will still lose, Batiatus.”

Oenomaus ignored the two men, instead he focused on Harian, trying to see what he was doing, trying to work out what he was aiming at, what his strategic plan was as he moved, drawing his opponent away and into fighting. Endurance was not Harian’s strongest skill, he got tired easy as he was so young and untrained, so he didn’t understand why Harian was choosing to try and wear his opponent down when he tired just as quickly.

“Come on Harian.” He whispered unheard under his breath. “You can do this, I believe in you.”

Harry stopped moving for a moment and caught back his breath. He hadn’t had another opportunity to exploit the one weakness he’d found, but he’d still drawn blood.

He took in more of his magic to keep himself going and dodged another series of attacks and he heard his opponent breathing heavily, laboriously, behind his helmet. He was almost at the point that Harry wanted him and now that he’d drawn blood, he’d given the man something to prove…that he couldn’t be bested by a recently turned fourteen year old who had been originally destined for a brothel. It made him more desperate, more reckless, and that was just how Harry wanted him.

He ducked another swipe at the throat and he was ready, it was exactly what he’d been waiting for, as he stabbed his sword through the man’s unprotected legs…the right leg, straight through the muscle of the calf.

He jumped back and put some distance between them as the man went down to one knee, holding the back of his leg and bellowing like a wounded animal, which echoed all around the arena and seemingly bounced back from the very walls. Harry took this moment to catch his breath back, to loosen sore muscles. He heard the crowd screaming, baying for more blood like the monsters that they were. He ignored them as much as he could, trying to block out their screams and calls, and he went to the man kneeling on the sand. He kept a respectful distance, but he harried the man on his knees, forcing him to move with his injured leg, prodding him with his sword, making more shallow cuts, not giving him time to recover or block out the pain of his injured leg.

With a yell the man leapt up and launched at him, Harry dropped to the sand, rolled behind his opponent and went to his knees. He cut the other leg this time, slicing his sword nice and deep, right over the back of the left heel, hoping that he’d taken out the Achilles tendon.

He darted backwards, his shield up just in case, expecting retaliation, he watched as the man, now fully on his knees, fell forward onto his hands before using his shield to prop himself back up as he bellowed…it echoed off the arena walls and drowned out the inaudible screams, shouts and yells from the crowd for a moment.

He stood up with the help of his scutum and turned to face him, but he fell back down. He couldn’t keep his feet.

“End it, boy.” The man grunted at him. “You’ve ruined me!”

Harry didn’t trust it…he kept his distance and played it safe. The man bellowed again and tried to launch at him, crawling across the sand, but he couldn’t push with his feet. He couldn’t keep his feet when he tried to stand again, Harry must have cut a tendon somewhere, as he’d been hoping. The man threw his shield at him and Harry brought up his own shield quickly, knocking it away.

“Kill. Kill. Kill. Kill!” The crowd chanted, the combined noise of the same word repeated over and over breaking through Harry’s block and he heard them, he took heart that they were with him, not against him.

Harry knew what he needed to do. He didn’t want to do it, the thought made him want to vomit, but he had no other choice. He launched forward, jabbing with his sword, and he danced away, around to the back of the man as he dived forward, stabbing where Harry had been stood. Harry kicked the sword from his hand, gripped his hair and dragged his head back, planting one of his sandals into the slice at the back of his left foot.

The man screamed in pain and tried to wrench away, but Harry laid his sword edge over his neck and he looked to the editor’s box for the first time.

He saw Oenomaus stood there smiling at him. He saw the jubilant Batiatus, laughing and joking, nudging the scowling Solonius next to him. The editor, a middle-aged man with an incredibly prominent nose, and overly adorned hair, showed the pollice verso, holding out his hand, his thumb turned to the side and the screaming and chanting of the crowd grew tenfold…they were all shouting kill. His opponent had not even landed a blow on a boy half his size who had had his first kill this very day in front of them, they judged him deserving of death after his poor showing.

The editor must have agreed with the crowd…the thumb turned down and Harry swallowed.

“I’m sorry.”

“Make it fucking quick and easy, and end my misery. I couldn’t have lived with the shame of this. Three undefeated fights against hard men, a warrior in my country, bested by a fucking boy.”

Harry drew his sword straight across his throat, slicing nice and deep and catching both the jugular vein and the carotid artery in both sides of the neck. It was bloody work and he got covered. He felt sick with himself as he let go of the hair and the body dropped to the sand and he once again did as he’d been taught, lifting his arm and then leaving the sands to chants of his own name…or rather his name that they knew him by, Harian.

Oenomaus was waiting for him, having rushed down from the pulvinus after the fight had ended to receive him, and Harry fell onto him, holding him, crying. He turned and vomited onto the sand. He sobbed harder.

“I’ve got you.” Oenomaus said, holding him.

“He was talking to me.” Harry cried.

“Begging you not to kill him? All the weak, dishonourable ones do.”

Harry shook his head. “He begged me to kill him. He said that losing to me had shamed him and he’d never be able to live with the loss he’d suffered.”

“You are not to be underestimated.” Oenomaus told him, escorting him back to his cell and handing him a cup of water. “You’ve proven that now. Come, go back into the cell so you can sit down for a moment.”

Harry had to be prodded inside and he had to have his shaking hands pulled from Oenomaus’ tunic as he couldn’t let go himself. He was eased down and settled gently.

“Did you see the bet maker?” Harry asked.

“I will see to that now if you wish, but I’ll have to lock you in.”

Harry nodded. He curled up in his cell as Oenomaus took the wooden marker to the bet maker to get his winnings for him. He had a cup of water and he sipped it, to keep his mind from anything else. He tried to ignore the cooling, stickiness of the blood that was plastering him, pinching at his skin, and making his stomach turn.

It took what seemed like an age for Oenomaus to come back. He was smiling in grim satisfaction.

“The rat was trying to pack up quickly and leave and then he tried to jilt you out of half of your winnings. I wasn’t having that, so I _persuaded_ him to honour your bet.”

Harry was handed a large, heavy bag of coins and he tucked it into his subligaria, tying the pouch strings to his belt, as it was the only thing he had to store them in.

“We’ll get you back to the ludus now.”

Harry nodded tiredly. “Are we not staying for the rest of the games?”

“No, Dominus made his excuses early, it would seem strange not to leave when he made such a fuss over a previous business encounter. Do you wish to stay?”

Harry shook his head violently. “No. I want to go back. I’m sleepy now.” He said.

Oenomaus nodded. “You can bathe now when you get back, I’ll get Pietros to assist you, and then you can go and rest yourself. You’ve done so well to fight off your exhaustion, you need to rest now, lest you do yourself injury.”

Harry smiled and he sluggishly tied his cloak around his shoulders. He didn’t want to put the tunic back on, he didn’t want to get any blood on it when it was brand new and the cloak opened over the front of his body, where all the blood was located. 

“Harian, you wonderful, wonderful boy!”

Harry looked up at Batiatus as he came hurrying down the corridor and he smiled tiredly. “Dominus.” He greeted.

“What a show! What a SHOW!” He cawed. “Brilliant, you’re brilliant! You’re all anyone can talk about, a tiny unbranded boy besting three men on the sands as a tiro, of course you’ve now been added to the lists to appear at the Vulcanalia in the afternoon bouts!”

Harry failed to get excited over that.

“Dominus, he needs to bathe and sleep. The two bouts, against three men, has tired him out. He’ll do himself injury.” Oenomaus said for him.

“Of course, of course. Rest him for today and tomorrow too. See that he has no injuries, that he’s well fed and recovered for the Vulcanalia.”

“Dominus.” Oenomaus inclined his head.

Harry was chained again to travel back to the ludus, but they needn’t have bothered. He was exhausted and drained now that the fighting was over and he could barely walk, let alone run off.

The trip back to the ludus seemed to take four times as long as it had that morning, he was cheered and touched by people in the street, as they marvelled over how beautiful he was to be a gladiator, (of which they hadn’t been able to see before thanks to his helmet), how tiny he truly was in comparison to themselves, to have defeated three opponents in one day, two of them together in the same fight. Oenomaus protected him from them all as best he could, lest someone try to slip him a dagger, such was always a danger on the streets, especially after men had lost money betting against his survival.

“They cheer your name yet you look as if they spit on you. Smile, Harian!” Batiatus cajoled.

“Apologies, Dominus. I am just exhausted.” Harry said softly. “I was not expecting such levels of activity in one day.”

“No, of course not. That fucking Solonius…but you showed him right up, Harian!” He laughed. “He tried to wear you down by putting you in that earlier bout with the noxii, but still you bested his shit of a gladiator. You will have the mark as soon as you are recovered. You deserve it after such a test.”

It took what seemed an age to walk out of the town and Harry was relieved when the walls of the ludus came into view, the trip up the mountain to get to it had almost killed him off and he was leaning on Oenomaus for support, but at least there were no people out here, fawning over him or touching him.

“I’ll make that Solonius pay.” Batiatus was still talking and blustering over the man, unwilling to let the treachery slide. “If he thinks that he can trick me so many times he is mistaken, I’ll fucking get him for this. I swear it to the fucking gods.”

Batiatus strode through the gates first, still mumbling about getting back at Solonius and he went straight to the villa. Oenomaus was left to almost drag him into the ludus and Harry smiled tiredly as he saw the group of gladiators staring. They had stopped their training to look at the gates with a sort of anticipation as they’d been opened. They cheered as he came stumbling in, covered in blood, but alive…which was better than they’d been thinking for half of the day, ever since he’d left that morning.

“Harian!”

Harry turned at Pietros’ voice and he slipped from Oenomaus and he ran to Pietros, hugging him and burrowing in tight. Fighting off his exhaustion in favour of falling into the comforting arms of a friend.

“If he can run, he’s fine.” Varro insisted.

“You’re covered in blood!” Pietros fretted. “Are you okay, are you hurt?”

“I’m fine, just tired. Very bloody business, cutting throats.”

“Dominus was furious when he came through.” Crixus said. “If you didn’t fall on the sands, why is he so angry? Were you spared after using the missio?”

“Solonius tried to trick him yet again.” Harry said tiredly as the gladiators all crowded around him, jostling each other to hear his story as he was speaking so quietly in his exhaustion. “I was marked down to fight in two bouts, not the one agreed upon. The first fight was against two noxii, the second against Solonius’ gladiator. I won both fights, but Dominus is still smarting from being tricked into doing things he didn’t want to.”

“You won a fight against two opponents and then against a gladiator?” Barca asked, dark eyebrows lowered.

Harry nodded.

“And you are uninjured?” Spartacus asked him, looking sincerely concerned.

“Not a mark.” Harry smiled. “None of this blood is mine.”

“How?!” Crixus roared. “You are nothing! There is nothing to you! I can lift you with one arm and throw you clear across the sands!”

Harry grinned. “Gratitude for training with me, Crixus, the gladiator was a murmillo. By playing with your shield yesterday, I found a weakness to exploit.”

He chuckled at the look on Crixus’ face.

“That’s enough. Get back to training. Pietros, assist Harian with his bathing. Harian, once you have bathed and cleaned yourself get some sleep, you are to be rested. Go.”

Pietros helped him across the training sand and to the bathing room, where Harry was sluiced off with water, oiled up and then scraped off carefully by his attentive friend. He took a short dip in the pool, paddling just a few laps and then he fell into Pietros’ arms again, letting his friend rub him dry with the linen cloth.

“There truly isn’t a mark on you.” Pietros said in wonder as he looked at every inch of Harry’s skin. He was pink and clean again.

“No, I’m far too good at dodging out of the way.” Harry chuckled. “It was horrible though, Pietros. Truly horrific. The crowd roared for blood without care for where it came from, how we were pitted together as if we were not even living people. It sickened me.”

Pietros bent and kissed his forehead. “Barca dislikes killing also.” He confided to him. “He fights because he is forced to, as are you. Barca likes delicate things.” Pietros smiled. “And you are the most delicate in this ludus.”

Harry chuckled. “Help me to bed, Pietros. I need to sleep.”

“Do you need a drink of water first?”

Harry retied his subligaria, tucking his winnings back into it more comfortably, and he nodded. “Yes, I could use a drink. To the sands then, but only for a little while. I could sleep for a week after what I was forced to do.”

Pietros came to help him, steadying him as he stumbled. They went out into the baking sun and over to the eating area, where Pietros sat him down in a shaded area and rushed to get him a cup of water.

“Gratitude, Pietros.” Harry said with a soft smile.

A moment later Barca was there, asking Pietros for his own water, getting a small break. He sat next to him and Harry could almost feel that gaze checking him over.

“I meant what I said, Barca. I wasn’t injured in any way. No one landed a blow to me.”

“Oftentimes a man takes a cut and doesn’t realise it in the moment.” Barca told him, accepting the cup from Pietros. He pulled his lover down onto his lap. Pietros smiled and nuzzled Barca’s face, kissing him.

“Doctore says that you fought very well, that you went straight after the gladiator’s feet.” Barca said.

“It was the only thing I could do.” Harry said. “I stabbed the right calf muscle and sliced the heel of the left foot. He tried to crawl after me, but he couldn’t stand up.”

“Why did you never do as such in training?”

Harry shook his head. “I never thought of it. It was only being in that arena, facing death, that I realised that compared to his upper body, his legs were very sparsely protected. As soon as I saw that, I knew I had to aim for his legs, especially as he kept his turtle shield up to his chin, it left his legs completely exposed.”

“You killed one of the noxii with a single throw of a dagger.” Barca told him.

“I know. A dagger is smaller, it fits easier in my hand, so I’m better with it than a sword.”

“It seems we’ve been going about things wrong with you. Instead of forcing you to use sword, we should have given you dagger instead.”

“I remember complaining that the swords were too big for me, no one listened.” Harry smiled tiredly.

“Doctore won’t tell us how you reacted on the sands, he is saving your pride. Were you okay?”

“On the sands? I was fine, I did exactly as I was told to do, Barca. Raise a fist in the air for the crowd and then walk back to the gate. That was where I broke down. After the noxii I went into shock and Doctore had to talk me through that. After the gladiator I vomited and went back into shock. I’m never going to get used to it.”

“You’ll harden to it over years.” Barca told him, touching his head gently. “When you accept you have no choice, it gets easier.”

“I do have a choice though, Barca. Me or them.”

“That is no choice.” Barca told him sternly.

Harry sighed. “I need to get some sleep. Two fights has exhausted me.”

“Come, I’ll help you.” Pietros said softly, jumping to his feet and helping Harry up.

Harry was supported back to his shared cell and Pietros bedded him down in his bedroll and smoothed the hair from his face.

“I was so worried.” The boy told him.

Harry smiled. “I can’t just up and leave my new friend so soon after finding him, can I?”

“No, you can’t. I’m so glad you survived, even after what Solonius tried to do.”

Harry nodded. “I told you before, Pietros…I’m far too stubborn to die, at least not on anyone else’s terms. If I die, it’ll be on my own terms, because I’ve wanted to.”

“I’ll leave you to rest. I’ll bring you your evening meal later.”

Harry nodded and yawned, already halfway to sleep. He watched Pietros leave and he smiled. He really liked the other boy. He was so happy to call him his friend and he hoped that Pietros felt the same way about him.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- X

“I told you he could do it, Lucretia!” Quintus said with a massive grin as he embraced his wife happily.

“It is a shame that I missed such a showing.” Lucretia said.

“A shame indeed! A small handful of coins on the boy and suddenly our debts loosen hold.”

“Who knew he could be so ferocious in the arena. He stands but a half of Crixus.”

“Small and deadly!” Quintus said happily. “A trick gone wrong for Solonius, who finds himself down a gladiator, thanks to our Harian.”

“He bested two noxii as well, you say?” Lucretia asked.

“Yes! The both of them pitted against him and he walks away with not even a scratch! There isn’t a single mark on his fair skin, no one was able to blood him. A marvel I did not expect, but is welcome all the same.”

“Will you fight him again?”

“Of course, Lucretia! The people of Capua are shouting his name, demanding more of him. They were as stunned as I when Harian bested the two noxii and then went on to kill a gladiator, all without taking a single blow himself. They want more of him. You should have seen how they reacted in the streets to him, they loitered just for a glimpse of him.”

Quintus sat down on a lounge chair happily.

“What a stroke of luck the boy brings. No one was expecting it, but when the boy backed himself, I did the same on a whim. His odds could have given riches worthy of the gods, if only I’d thought to put more on him.”

“There is always the next time.”

“He is to fight in the Vulcanalia.” Quintus said with satisfaction. “In the afternoon bouts, not the morning.”

“He must truly have impressed. Perhaps there is potential in him after all.”

“After the showing today I am certain of it.” He said with a smile. “Another month of training before the Vulcanalia and he is going to be more trained and less rough and gangly. If he can best three men as a raw recruit of only three weeks, think what he can do with two months of training.”

“Is Crixus to have the Primus?”

“Of course. Our champion gets the honour fight, he’ll face off against Gnaeus.”

Lucretia nodded and sat by her husband’s side.

“We have more gladiators in the Vulcanalia than ever before.”

“With Harian now the talk of Capua, we can only rise, especially with him at the fore.”

“How?” She demanded. “Crixus is our champion, he…”

“He is expected to win his fights. Harian was expected to lose, no…not just to lose but to be slaughtered. He won, Lucretia, with not a mark upon him. This ludus has turned that boy whore into a gladiator, a miraculous feat that none other has ever done before! My renown as a lanista will be upon everyone’s lips, as Harian’s name is spread around…a tiny boy, but half the size of men, besting gladiators in the arena without taking so much as a cursory scratch. He truly is a marvel. I would not be surprised now if Harian rose to become champion, a boy who cannot be hit cannot be beaten. Once he is trained of course, he is still new, but one day he might perhaps best Crixus in the arena.”

“I doubt such a thing would ever happen.” Lucretia said loftily. “Crixus is the Undefeated Gaul.”

“I remember a time when he was bested by all men.” Quintus said pointedly.

“He was a raw recruit when he faced off against Gannicus, and he held his own…”

“Harian is but a raw recruit, less into his training than Crixus was when he fought Gannicus and lost. Harian has already proven himself in the arena, killing three men with little rest between and the way in which he did so was effortless. He didn’t take a single blow to his body, Lucretia. Has Crixus ever done the same? Had Gannicus for that matter? No, the boy is something special and while I have him in my grasp, I will push him to his limit and see what he becomes.”

“So that is all there is to say?” Lucretia demanded. “Our new champion, the face of our ludus, will be a boy whore meant for a brothel?”

“If he earns such a place, then yes.” He said simply. “It is up to Crixus to prevent Harian from taking his title, not to prevent Harian from attempting.”

“It is a mockery, Quintus.”

“If Harian earns the right to be champion then there is no mockery. He was only to be sold to a brothel because of his looks, but underneath that is the heart of a gladiator! He was given fair chance and he has seized it with both hands. He has proven himself. He will grow and as he grows and trains, he has the potential to be the best of them.”

Quintus slipped into his thoughts and he smiled in satisfaction. Everyone, even himself, had expected the boy whore to be ripped to pieces in the arena…Solonius had been counting on it, after tricking him into buying the boy in the first place. Harian had not done as expected, such a show of determination had to be rewarded. He would think on what to give the boy as an incentive to carry on winning such herculean fights. The boy would not want women and could not handle wine while so young, the usual rewards for such stunning victories in the arena, but there must be something that he would want that could be provided for him…within reason of course.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ X

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Poor Harry, I almost feel bad for him…but not enough to stop. He’s now had his first arena fight, and won, but the horrors for him aren’t going to stop there. The Romans are going to be too curious, too enamoured of him and his victories, to let him go now that they’ve had a taste, which means nothing good for our little Harry.
> 
> As always, I hope that you’ve enjoyed this chapter, you are welcome to join me on Facebook under the name Star Mass, and I will see you all with chapter 4 next week,
> 
> StarLight Massacre. X


	4. Sacramentum Gladiatorum

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last Time
> 
> Quintus slipped into his thoughts and he smiled in satisfaction. Everyone, even himself, had expected the boy whore to be ripped to pieces in the arena…Solonius had been counting on it, after tricking him into buying the boy in the first place. Harian had not done as expected, such a show of determination had to be rewarded. He would think on what to give the boy as an incentive to carry on winning such herculean fights. The boy would not want women and could not handle wine while so young, the usual rewards for such stunning victories in the arena, but there must be something that he would want that could be provided for him…within reason of course.

Chapter Four – Sacramentum Gladiatorum

Harry slept peacefully, almost completely undisturbed, for two days and their corresponding nights. Pietros brought him his meals and would shake him awake and watch him eating just to be sure that he did actually eat his barley porridge and bread ration, and didn’t just roll over and go back to sleep. He stirred now and then to use the small pot in the corner of the cell that would then be emptied into a bigger bucket and then tipped down the hole by slaves. That had taken a bit of adjusting to as well, but he managed. Necessity had him getting over his embarrassment rather quickly in this place.

He rested himself fully, trying to ignore how his body was screaming murder at him as his muscles ached and pulled and throbbed, he was checked on now and then, by Pietros, by Doctore, and Barca prodded him awake now and then to make sure that he was still alive. Spartacus and Varro would check on him when they were locked in for the night. Marcus and Kerza, the two other surviving recruits in the same class that he’d been training with both left him well alone, especially now, after his victories against three men in the arena.

Pietros had told him, while he’d been eating his evening meal that night, that Barca had learned that the fifth man in Gnaeus’ plot was actually Marcus, a raw recruit without a brand, and he was furious about it. Apparently Gnaeus had believed that Marcus would have had a better chance at getting Harry to trust him, being a member of his recruitment class and not an actual gladiator, and had promised Marcus ‘a taste’ of Harry and Pietros in return for his help. Marcus had taken to hiding from Barca off of the training sands, and desperately pairing with Kerza on them to avoid his wrath. It wouldn’t work for very long, soon Marcus would cross Barca, and the man would kill him for daring to set his sights onto Pietros, and to a lesser extent Harry, who though he hadn’t been a ‘brother’ at the time, he had been under Barca’s protection thanks to Pietros’ pleading, and Barca took that protection seriously, especially now that Harry was a brother with his successful test in the arena, he just needed the brand to make it official.

On the third morning after his first arena fight, Harry woke up early, it was before dawn and he felt well rested and restless now. He needed to get up and walk around. He did just that, using a small burst of magic to open the cell door. A guard would be blamed for not locking it, but he didn’t care. He hated the Roman guards.

He was no longer sore or pained, just a bit stiff from sleeping for so long, so he took a soft jog around the training sands while everyone else slept. He took care near the edge, he didn’t want to fall over. He didn’t push himself, it was a nice, relaxed run, just to give him some activity. He’d done night runs with the new recruits, but he’d never done the log carry with them, as all new recruits were forced to do. Not least because he couldn’t even pick it up, but because he’d almost done himself an injury trying. Oenomaus had ordered him to leave it and just run instead, while the other recruits struggled with the heavy blocks of wood on their shoulders.

“Up early, Harian?”

He slowed to a stop next to his Doctore. “I’ve slept enough now. I was getting restless, so I decided to have a bit of a run.”

“How did you get out of your cell?”

“I stumbled to it half asleep still, I tried it without thinking. It wasn’t locked, Doctore.”

“I will have words with the guards then.”

Harry nodded. He didn’t care, the guards weren’t slaves, they were paid to look after the ludus and keep the gladiators in check, but instead they usually abused and treated them all as stray dogs and he’d heard terrible things about the slave girls in the villa being preyed upon too. He could well believe the tales, a couple of the guards had even tried to force him to do sex acts on them, which he’d refused. He’d come to learn that they could be as dangerous, if not more so, than the actual gladiators that he was housed with. He would be punished if he attacked another gladiator, for damaging ‘goods’ that belonged to their Dominus, but fighting was almost expected of them, and usually resulted in nothing worse than a shout from their Doctore, or a lick of his whip, or maybe a trip to the hole. The same wouldn’t be true if he dared attack one of the Roman guards. He would be punished harshly for it, maybe maimed or crippled, or even executed, so he had to be very careful, and he avoided them all as best as he could, taking care not to be alone near them.

“Get your morning meal, today you take the oath.”

“Does the branding hurt? I’ve never been harmed in such a way before.”

“Breathe through the pain…most men grunt or hiss, only a few have ever screamed and they have not been well received.”

Harry nodded, taking the warning for what it was. He would be seen as lesser if he couldn’t take the pain of the brand. It was a mark of brotherhood, to reject its presence or its placement would anger his new brothers who had all gone through the same rite. Perhaps he ought to silence himself for the moment of the brand, no one need know he was screaming if he made no sound and hid his face.

He went to get his food, noting that he got an extra spoonful from the one armed gladiator, Euclid, whose only duties now included cooking and serving food for his brothers after losing his arm in the arena and having been spared from death after using the missio. He also got his first ever ration of bread. Harry, though not branded yet, was a brother and as such he got more to eat and he’d be allowed to eat in peace.

He was still happily eating when his new brothers stumbled into the eating area for their own meal. Pietros bounded over to him as soon as he saw him.

“You’re finally awake!”

Harry laughed softly. “I warned you that I would sleep for a week! Such activity absent the proper training exhausted me.”

“But you are alive.” Barca told him, sitting next to Pietros and handing his lover a bowl of barley porridge.

“Much to your disappointment.” Harry teased.

“Disappointment? No! I placed coin on you to win, and win you did!” Barca said happily. “You are my new favourite person…after Pietros.”

Harry laughed then. “I placed a single coin on myself before the fight. I won a fortune for myself too.” Harry said smugly.

“How did you place bet?” Crixus asked as he sat down opposite the three of them.

“There was a bet maker outside the arena as we were walking inside. I asked Dominus if I might place my only coin upon myself for luck. He agreed and Doctore escorted me to make my bet. He went to collect my winnings after my final bout, while I was recovering my breath.”

“I have yet to recover the coin from Ashur.” Barca said.

“You will never see it.” Harry scoffed. “I would place all my winnings that he has already spent your coin and never intended to pay it back or give you returns on it. I wouldn’t trust him with a shit pot, lest he _accidentally_ stumble and throw it over me.”

“I will see return or I will cripple his other leg.” Barca insisted.

“I could help.” Harry said. “I have a wonderful skill in getting others to do as I want.”

“No you don’t!” Crixus scoffed.

“Crixus, I was playing with your own shield, on that sand, asked to be taken from your own hand, and you gave it over so that I could crawl around like a child, playing at being a turtle. If I ask for something, I usually get it.”

“I don’t believe you.”

Harry chuckled. He stood and he walked over to one of the gladiators, Mannus. After a few words, a soft smile and a laugh, he walked back to Barca, Crixus and Pietros with Mannus’ bread ration. He grinned at them triumphantly.

“I get what I want.” Harry said as he passed the bread to Pietros. “For the birds.” He said with a smile.

“I don’t think your whore wiles will work on Ashur.” Barca told him.

Harry scoffed. “You say whore wiles when you mean skills of persuasion, Mannus has no taste for boys. I used no whore wiles upon Crixus to get his shield, nor on Mannus to get his bread. I am not a whore, Barca, you know better than anyone that I was a virgin less than a week ago.”

That shut up the other man, to be reminded that he’d been the first, and thus far only, man to break him.

“To the sands!” Oenomaus roared at them several minutes later and Harry scoffed several last bites of his porridge, scraped his bowl with the last of his bread and then bounded onto the sand with all the energy of the truly youthful.

Pietros was already handing out wooden swords, shields and he had Barca’s wooden spear. He got a kiss for handing it over and Harry shook his head to watch them. He got his own wooden sword and he said his thanks.

“Pair up, Crixus with Gnaeus. Harian with Barca, lets train you against a hoplomachus and see how you fare.”

Harry groaned. “I’ve already felt Barca’s long, hard weapon, I don’t need another taste, Doctore.” He grumbled, but moved over to Barca regardless.

He got raucous laughter and Barca was grinning. Harry smiled and shifted into his favoured pose.

“How are you planning to deal with this situation?” Doctore asked him, watching him settle himself.

“I’m hoping that Barca won’t kill me and if he does, I want him to know that I will haunt him forever and never give him any peace until he joins me in the underworld, where I can kill him to return the favour.”

“That would be quite the grudge.” Oenomaus said with a smile. Despite himself he actually liked Harian, young though he was, he never, ever gave up. Such a trait could only be admired in one who was already at such an obvious disadvantage to those around him.

“Are you ready, tiny?” Barca asked him.

Harry took a breath and he nodded. He did rather well, for his first time against a spear. He dodged to the side of the attacks, trying to figure out how to both defend and attack. He tried to take a blow onto his shield and got throw backwards, off of his feet.

“Fuck.” He cursed, getting back up and stepping forward to be attacked by Barca again.

He went down again and again, over and over.

“Fuck, Barca!” He cursed. “At least pretend not to be so pleased with yourself!”

“You’re a full brother now, no mercy.”

“What do you mean? You weren’t merciful before I became a brother!” Harry laughed.

“Then close mouth and stop words from flowing. There is no mercy in the arena, I will show you none on the training sands.” Barca told him, spinning his spear like a fucking baton, showing off.

Harry thought hard before stepping forward to battle with Barca this time. There were only two ways he could think of to combat the spear, and both were defensive in a way…the first option was to get Barca’s spear from him, but he had a grip of iron, it wouldn’t be easy. The other was to get in close to Barca and then hit him. The spear was a long range weapon, it couldn’t easily be used up close, but hoplomachi also had swords. He would need to strike a decisive ‘fatal’ blow before Barca was able to drop his spear and get his sword from his belt.

“Wake up or I will knock thoughts from head.” Barca told him, knocking his spear on Harry’s shoulder.

“Calm down, stop being a fussy old woman. I’m thinking how best to beat your arse.” Harry giggled.

“You giggle like a sweet girl.” Barca taunted. “Let me hear more sweet sounds from your pretty lips.”

“You had enough of that already.” Harry said, scowling as he thought that Barca was referring to when they were forced to have sex with one another.

“I would have more.”

“I would not grant you such.” Harry told him, getting upset.

Barca swiped at him and, not ready for it, the blow winded him and he grunted, doubling over and trying to breathe.

“You rat bastard.” Harry hissed. He wasn’t sure if it had been in Latin or English, but he was sure that Barca understood the intent from Harry’s glare.

“Enough words, tiny. Come at me.”

Harry sucked in a deep breath and he stood up. “When I take that fucking spear from you I’m going to ram it up your arse.”

“If you can take it from me.” Barca laughed at him.

Harry probed carefully, he’d misdirected Barca slightly, who would now be expecting Harry to wrest the spear from his hands, instead he was going to get close enough to whack him with the lead-lined wooden sword that was in his right hand. It still didn’t fit properly, and his grip was compromised because of it.

It took a while before he manoeuvred Barca into doing as he wanted him to, and as Barca jabbed high, Harry dropped to the sand, rolled under the reach of the spear and swung his sword as hard as he could into Barca’s belly, winding him and making him double over, even as he rolled out of harm’s way and prodded his sword into Barca’s exposed back.

“Well done, Harian.” Doctore praised as he passed, having watched their last exchange. “You learn well.”

“Barca’s a good teacher.” Harry praised. “In all manner of things it seems.”

That brought a smile back to Barca’s face. Truly nothing made him smile more than putting Pietros near him or praising his male prowess.

“You are getting better at handling long, hard things.”

Harry laughed then. “Indeed I am. All thanks to you, Barca. Gratitude.”

“I would have you again. Stand like a man.” Barca told him and Harry fell into his pose and wiggled a bit to loosen himself up.

Barca was now wary of jabbing high, instead he kept trying to trip him up, putting the spear between his legs and swiping at one or the other, or even trying to flick it up to his rather unprotected balls. This put Harry on his back or on his knees in the sand nine times out of ten. He was sure the one time he’d evaded this move had been a fluke, as he couldn’t replicate his dance over the spear shaft, no matter how hard he tried.

“Fuck it all, Barca, you brute!” Harry complained as he picked himself up from the sand, coughing.

“I prefer you on your back.” Barca told him.

“Funny, I was going to say the same thing.” Harry gave him a wink.

Barca laughed. “You have not had me upon my back, nor will you.”

“Has Pietros never been…no, never mind.” Harry said. “Whatever you both get up to, I won’t pry. I just thought that two men in love would have indulged in…no, forget I said anything.”

“What?” Barca asked curiously, watching the pink tint spread up Harry’s cheeks.

Harry shook his head, trying to control his smile as he reeled in Barca like a fish on a line. He walked away, but Barca followed.

“What are we supposed to have done?”

“Oh, nothing, I just thought that maybe Pietros had been, you know, on top.”

“That Pietros would fuck me?”

“No. You would fuck him, on top.”

“I do not understand.”

“Forget I said it, Barca. It doesn’t matter.”

“It does. Tell me! How does a virgin know of such things?”

“It was common between boys where I was from.” Harry lied. “Just because I didn’t do such things doesn’t mean I didn’t know of them.” He said more honestly.

“Tell me what boys in love do in your country.”

Harry chuckled evilly and darted away. Barca gave chase and it ended up being a cat and mouse chase through the other sparring gladiators, who stopped in confusion to watch them.

“What is the meaning of this? Barca. Harian.” Oenomaus roared out. He cracked his whip and Harry stopped in front of him, giggling. “What is the cause of this? You are meant to be training, not running around like boys at play.”

“Barca doesn’t know how to handle boys, that’s all, Doctore.” Harry said sweetly.

“I am well able to handle boys!” Barca denied.

“So you say, but words mean nothing when you can’t back them up with action.” Harry teased.

“Barca has difficulty handling your training?” Doctore asked in puzzlement. Harry wondered if some of his words had come out in English again, or if his behaviour really was that puzzling.

“Among other things.” Harry couldn’t help adding.

He dodged the spear that was thrust at him with a laugh, twisting around and then falling to his back, rolling onto his belly and going back to his knees before taking out Barca’s shin with his wooden sword.

The man yelled with frustrated pain and tried to spear Harry as if a fish in a river.

“Enough! Cool tempers!” Their Doctore ordered. “Barca, spar with Crixus. Harian, to the palus.”

“I still love you, Barca!” Harry called out. “I just love Pietros more.”

Barca ignored him and Harry laughed, moving to one of the palus to the edge of the grounds.

“You will find yourself dead if you carry on in same vein!” Varro told him, from where he sparred with Spartacus near the palus he had chosen.

Harry shook his head. “Barca and I are bound now.”

“Because he fucked you once?”

“Because he was ordered to.” Harry said sadly. “It gave us common ground. He did not want to do it and I did not want him to do it. We are bound by that horrible ordeal, and the order that saw to it.”

“Who else but we did you tell about such a sensitive matter?” Spartacus asked him gently.

“No one.” Harry said. “You were the only two that I told about being a virgin.”

“We told no one, we have not even given it voice since you told us, I swear it.” Spartacus insisted.

“I know.” Harry smiled sadly. “I know that neither of you would have told anyone else. Ashur overheard us that night and it was he who told Dominus about it. If I had known what was to happened, I would have lied when asked about it. I did not know that Romans would not kill virgins. It comes across as more barbarous to have someone raped before killing them than just outright killing a virgin, seems more salt to the wound than an act of civilised men, but Barca was ordered to… _take care_ of the problem.” Harry flinched without meaning to. “He could have made it unbearable, yet he chose not to, for that I am indebted to him.” He said softer. “If he had had a mind he could have made it all about pain and blood, and watched me fall on the sands as a later result, but he chose not to.”

“Does Pietros know about it?” Varro asked.

Harry nodded. “We told him immediately, such secrets fester and hang over a man. It could not have come from anyone else, especially not that fucking Ashur. We told Pietros and Doctore together, immediately after.”

“Yet he is still your friend?” Varro questioned.

“His first words were concern for me, he knows well how much of a beast Barca can be.” Harry chuckled. “Our choice was taken from us, Varro. Barca and I were ordered to do it and we had to obey. Whatever Pietros thinks, he knows this to be the truth. He does not hold it against either of us…instead the three of us place blame where it belongs.”

“On Dominus?” Varro said shocked.

“On Ashur.” Harry corrected. “Had he kept his mouth shut, or better, had not been lingering in the shadows, listening to conversations not meant for his ears, this would not have happened.”

“I do not see any work on the palus!” Doctore shouted at him from the other end of the sands.

“Fuck.” Harry cursed, turning to the wooden block and he dropped into his pose, he swung the sword over and over, watching it land on the beaten wood. “I swear the man has four sets of eyes, so that he can see in all directions at once.”

“At least you have earned your mark.” Spartacus told him.

“Neither of you have anything to worry over.” Harry assured them. “If I can fucking pass, in the arena of all places, then you both can.”

“Do not sell yourself short, Harian.” Spartacus told him immediately. “You are not someone to be taken so lightly.”

Harry frowned. “How do you mean? I’d never touched a sword or shield before I came here, I can’t beat any of you, I get my face forced to the sand every day…”

“Exactly.”

Harry was caught off guard and he turned to face the other two men, despite the threat of Doctore catching him slacking off yet again.

“You’d never touched sword or shield before where most men have, most men here were warriors in their own countries, yet you beat three men in the arena after just three weeks of training, one of those weeks you were with the medicus. You show up everyone.”

“I do not mean to. I just want to live.”

“As do we all.” Varro insisted. “You mistake words, you push us all harder. With your victory in the arena, we are all trying to live up to the bar that you have set. It will likely keep us all alive.”

Harry chuckled and turned back to the palus. “I am glad to be of service, Varro. I hope you both stay alive too, I am fond of you.”

“I thought it was only Barca’s cock you were taking.”

Harry sighed and turned a withering glare onto Gnaeus, who had managed to move closer to the three of them. Enough so that he had caught the last part of their conversation, and had very clearly jumped to the wrong conclusion.

“What’s it to you who I fuck?”

“I want a piece of your arse too.”

“You’re not going to get it.” Harry snarled.

“You give to everyone but me, whore!”

“What if I do?” Harry snapped loudly, shouting over all other noise in the training square. “If I fucked everyone in this fucking ludus twice except you there is nothing you can fucking do about it you shit!”

“HARIAN!” Doctore roared, accompanied with a crack of the whip right by his toes. “What is the meaning of this disturbance? I told you no more!”

“Then remove Gnaeus from near me before I remove his fucking face, Doctore!”

“As if you could, whore! Your head swells with victory over fucking noxii! As my head swells upon sight of you.” He added, groping himself through his subligaria.

“You are the vilest of worms.” Harry growled. “If your cock is now swollen then I fear I would not even notice if you did try to fuck me!”

Gnaeus roared and charged at him as a wave of laughter went around the training sands. Harry ducked the outstretched arm and spun as soon as he was under, smashing his wooden sword across Gnaeus’ back, making him stumble headlong into the palus. He did not get back up.

“Hm. Perhaps I can take you on and come out the victor.” He said consideringly. “That was not much of a challenge. Doctore, does anger cloud judgement in the arena? I always thought that perhaps it would help, not hinder.”

He disarmed the anger of the man who had stormed over by asking such questions, hoping to get out of at least a terrible punishment.

“Anger clouds mind and makes men rash and reckless.” Barca told him. “A foolish charge like enraged bull and you see yourself like Gnaeus. Outwitted and beaten by tiny boy. In the arena…dead.”

Harry nodded. “Is that why the gladiator I was pitted against tried to taunt me and make me angry as we fought?”

Several men around him nodded and he made a small O with his mouth. “I was too scared to be angry.” He said easily. “I will make sure to never let anger take me in the arena.”

“Rhaskos. Hamilcar. See Gnaeus to the medicus…Harian, if I do not see new splits in that palus I will throw you over that cliff edge myself.”

“I will be fine now, Doctore…now that Gnaeus cannot open his mouth to distract me from purpose.”

Harry turned back to the palus and he took care to beat it…it did not take much, all he had to do was think of Gnaeus’ face etched into the wood and he found it rather easy and even enjoyable to beat the wooden block repeatedly, as opposed to when he’d first arrived and he couldn’t even swing at the palus by himself.

He didn’t even pause for breath, understanding that he had already pushed his luck too much for one day with those around him. He did practice his ducking and weaving though, moving all around the palus, not just staying on one side…he had it to himself so he saw no problem with doing so.

He only stopped when Doctore himself came to tell him to. He bounced over to the eating area for his midday meal and he sat on Pietros with his bowl of porridge and lump of bread. The boy laughed and slotted his arm around him so that he could eat.

“What are you doing?” Pietros asked him.

“Being on top of you.” He said. Barca almost choked on his own porridge.

“If you don’t explain what that means I will beat it from you!”

“Barca!” Pietros said, appalled at what he’d heard. “Don’t threaten, Harian.”

“He won’t stop teasing about being the top.”

“What top?” Pietros asked.

Harry jammed a large spoonful of porridge into his mouth and grinned.

“I told you the boy was more trouble to keep him.” Crixus grunted.

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re a terrible, bitter person, Crixus?” Harry demanded after he’d swallowed his food.

“Something I’m proud of.” The man laughed.

Harry laughed too and smiled.

“Where do you hail from, Harian?” Pietros asked him, putting voice to a question that had bothered them all.

“I’m Celtic.” Harry said.

“Fucking Celts!” Someone spat.

Harry rolled his eyes.

“Gannicus was a Celt.” Barca smiled. “He too was like a fierce boy.”

Harry chuckled.

“What sort of Celt are you?” Crixus demanded. “You’re not a Gaul, too fucking small.”

Harry sighed. “Britannic.” He said and it stopped all noise as they all looked to him as if he were something rare and special. “I’m of the Trinovantes tribe in the South, though my father was a Catuvellauni and my mother a Corieltauvi. They fell in love, against family wishes, so they ran to the Trinovantes tribe, where they had me.” He added as a little lie.

“You…you really are Britannic?” Pietros asked him.

Harry nodded.

“At least it explains why you’ve been able to survive thus far. Gannicus was a mad Celt too, from Gaul.” Barca told him with a fond smile.

“How did you get here? Rome can’t get near Britannia.”

Harry gave a small, wry smile. “No idea. I don’t remember how I even got over into Gaul. I woke up and I was already in slaver hands in Rome. Someone must have drugged me and sold me.”

“Were you not popular with your tribe’s people?”

“I was, for all the wrong reasons.” Harry sighed. “I didn’t really respect the proper people. They expected me to do things that I wasn’t willing to do as a free man. I was already well off, I couldn’t be bribed, so they tried to force me to do these things, blackmailing me, but…”

“You still refused?”

Harry, lost in thoughts of Hogwarts, Dumbledore, Voldemort and the Dursleys, didn’t answer. He knew what it was to be a slave now. He recognised that as a free man, boy, he had had the right to say no without needing to give a reason, but still he’d been blackmailed and coerced into doing things that he shouldn’t have had to deal with. Being mistreated by the Dursleys, the Philosopher’s Stone, the Chamber of Secrets, then that fucking time-turner that had ruined everything. Who gave a thirteen year old a time-turner? Dumbledore could have used it himself to save Buckbeak and Sirius, but no, he’d given it to two thirteen year olds instead and all but coerced them into saving Sirius and Buckbeak by telling them how many times to turn it. This was his fucking fault.

“Did they want to fuck you too?”

Harry blinked and looked at Barca. He frowned. “If they did I had no knowledge of it.”

“Remember how sweet and innocent he was to such things when he arrived, Barca.” Crixus grinned. “He would not have known if they had.”

“I’ve been here just three weeks with you animals.” Harry chuckled. “Now look what you’ve done to me.”

“What Barca’s done to you.” Rhaskos called out.

Harry scoffed. “All of you are as bad as each other, I’ve heard more explicit comments from you lot than I have in my entire life.”

That made them all laugh and Harry huffed, turning on Pietros’ lap so that they were both facing the same way.

“I hope you’re all happy with yourselves, stealing a boy’s innocent childhood.”

There was such a round of loud laughter that Doctore came running, thinking that an all-out brawl had started.

“What is going on here?” He demanded.

“They think they’re all so funny.” Harry huffed.

“Why is it that any disturbance lately has had you at its heart?” The man said tiredly.

“I’m young and confrontational and I have a lot of energy to get rid of because Barca doesn’t satisfy me as much as he thinks he does.” Harry said.

There was another burst of laughter and the next thing he knew he was on the floor and he laughed happily as Pietros immediately turned to Barca and berated him for pushing Harry off of his lap.

“It’s not my fault he uses all of his energy on Pietros and leaves none for me!” Harry carried on. “During our training today I thought I was against Crixus he was that slow!”

A wooden spoon hit him in the head and Harry picked it up, laughing harder.

“A fucking spoon?” Harry laughed, standing up and putting it on the table.

“Be thankful it wasn’t my fist!” Crixus growled at him.

“Calm yourselves, I know emotions are high, it’s not every day we get a new brother, but gain control of yourselves.”

“I’m running on nerves if that helps _alleviate_ me from blame.” Harry giggled nervously. He knew that he’d said part of that sentence in English too, he didn’t know if his meaning would have passed over clearly enough.

“You don’t want to be a brother?” Litaviccus demanded. Apparently no, his meaning hadn’t gotten over clearly enough.

“Did I say that you thick headed beast?!” Harry demanded. “I’m just nervous about the brand, that doesn’t mean I don’t want it.” He said more simply.

Barca clapped him on the back. “You’re already a brother. A better one than most. The brand doesn’t hurt any worse than being stabbed.”

“I’ve never been stabbed.” Harry said shortly. “I don’t know what that feels like either!”

“Have you ever been burnt?” Crixus asked.

“No.”

“Speared?”

“No! I’ve never been harmed in any such way.” Harry said hotly.

“He’s going to be a screamer.” Hamilcar laughed.

Harry frowned. “I don’t think so, I tend to combat pain with curses…or sinking my teeth into Barca’s shoulder.”

“It was your fingernails and they left marks that stayed for four days.”

“Oh…well I was biting through your throat in my mind.” Harry giggled.

“I dig my fingernails into him too, he’s used to such treatment.”

They all looked at the quiet Pietros in shock, except for Harry who hadn’t been here long enough to know that it wasn’t normal for Pietros to act in such a confident, bold way, instead Harry laughed happily and he sat down next to Pietros and hugged him tightly.

“You’re like another me!” Harry giggled. “I’ve taught you well.”

Harry kissed his cheek and he sighed. Barca shoved at his head for kissing his lover, but Harry hugged Pietros tighter and grinned at him.

“He’s mine now, you’re not having him back.” Harry told Barca.

“Do you have no scars at all?” Leviticus asked him.

Harry shook his head. “I bathe with you all, surely you’ve noticed the absence of marks upon me.”

“I don’t look past that plump arse of yours.”

“What about now?” Harry asked, holding his arms out.

“It’s still your arse that draws the most attention.” They all laughed at that.

“I’m sat down!” He complained.

“Has anyone ever hit you?”

“Yes, lots of times.” He said, thinking of the Dursleys. “But that mostly just left bruises or the odd cut that wasn’t deep enough to scar.”

“You’re going to scream.” Crixus told him.

“I won’t.” Harry hissed.

“I’d wager coin on it.” Rhaskos laughed.

“You’d lose.” Harry said furiously. “I won’t scream. I’ve earnt my place, now I want to join my brothers.”

“You will never be a true brother, you are absent the proper test.”

“I will not smash him in the fucking face.” Harry hissed under his breath as Ashur made himself known, limping into the eating area with his right leg in a brace. “I had my test in the arena, which has to be the worst possible place to have it.” Harry growled louder, for all to hear. “If I was to die, I would rather it be within these walls and witnessed by a select few rather than in the arena, having the whole of Capua witness my failure on the sands.”

“We never accepted him because he was absent the proper test.” Barca said with a ferocious grin at Ashur. “He was taken out on the streets, to ambush a man in an alley, and he got the mark for that. And now he thinks he’s a gladiator because of it.”

“He is absent the proper test as well!” Ashur insisted, jabbing an accusing finger at Harry.

“He has proven himself in the arena!” Crixus roared. “Two weeks of proper training our brother received, having never held sword or shield before in his life, and he beat three men on the sands for all to bear witness to. He has proven himself to us! He is our brother.”

“Why else would they put up with me and all the shit I put them through.” Harry giggled, his voice breaking, going from high to slightly lower.

They all turned to him in shock.

“What?” He demanded self-consciously. “I told you I was young.”

“You are physically transitioning from boy to man still!”

“Does he even have cock hair?”

“A little bit.” Harry defended himself bashfully.

“No wonder he’s so soft and sweet, he’s truly a boy still!”

“How old are you?”

“Fourteen, I said be…”

“No, are you closer to thirteen or fifteen.”

“Thirteen.” Harry said. “My fourteenth year passed a half month before I came here.”

“You’re only five weeks over your fourteenth year?” Oenomaus asked him, reminding them all that he was still there.

Harry nodded.

“You are too young to be here.” Barca declared. “You don’t even have the body of a man yet.”

“Surely you could tell that just by looking at me!” He scowled, throwing his arms out and showing off his thin chest.

“I told you he has the bones of the birds.” Pietros said sadly, encircling Harry’s arm with his hand and running it all the way down…it fit all the way down from shoulder to wrist and after Harry, Pietros had the smallest hands in the ludus.

“I don’t know why you’re all so surprised.” Harry insisted. “I am obviously still a boy. I’m half the size of you, I can’t even hope to match your strength, I don’t have the muscles of a man…why has this shocked you?”

“We’ve never had an actual boy for a brother before.” Leviticus said in a strange tone. “Let us hope you do not fight again for a while.”

“There’s no hope of that, I was added to the lists in the afternoon bouts for the Vulcanalia.” Harry said. “That is why I’m training against Barca, so if I’m pitted against a hoplomachus I know what to do. I was praying that I wasn’t against a hoplomachus in the past games, and thankfully I wasn’t. I’ve never seen a spear before, I did not want my first time to be in the arena. It leaves no opportunity for mistake or trial and error.”

“Let us get back to training then. I would teach you how to combat the spear.” Barca said, standing and pulling Harry up with him.

He bent over to kiss Pietros and Harry smiled, but said nothing. He bounded out onto the sand to pick up his sword and Barca’s spear.

“Doctore, should he not also go against a Retiarius?” Ashur asked.

“Unfortunately I’ve already seen Gnaeus to the medicus.” Harry said sweetly. “He is the only Retiarius at this ludus.”

Barca laughed and run his hand through Harry’s tufty hair.

“Pose!” Barca demanded of him then, pushing his head away gently.

Harry’s smile slipped away and he concentrated hard, slipping to his favoured pose and their training commenced. Harry trying to avoid the spear while Barca tried his hardest to ram it through his body.

He didn’t joke about it this time, nor complain. He did his very best, concentrating as hard as he could to avoid the spear or dodge around it. He got lucky to not be paired with a hoplomachus in his first games, luck that might not carry over to the Vulcanalia. He needed to be prepared, and he needed to test himself against the spear in this training setting, where a wrong move or an error wouldn’t cost him his life.

Hours passed by quickly, as Harry picked himself up from the sand over and over. Trying to combat the long reach of the spear by getting in close…the one time he’d managed to do this, Barca had dropped his spear while pulling the sword from his belt with his other hand simultaneously. He’d had it up to his throat before Harry could do anything. Knowing that he was well and truly beaten and that Barca had offered him a fatal blow, he admitted defeat with his first use of the missio in training, Harry had sighed and moved away, getting back into his pose to try again. He refused to give up trying though, no matter how bruised or battered his body got.

When the sun was starting to set, their training had been called off earlier than usual, in favour of his branding.

Torches had been lit and the fire was already burning, the brand in the flames ready, getting red hot. It was lucky it wasn’t too big, otherwise it would not have fit on his forearm. Doctore had already thought of such and he’d tried the brand against his arm while cold, making sure that it would fit. It would…just.

Harry had spent his free time practising silencing himself, he had screamed at the top of his lungs in the middle of the eating area, and not a sound had escaped him. He would not ruin the small touch of happiness he had in this dreadful place by having his brothers’ turn from him because he’d screamed.

He stood by the fire without being told and his brothers’ cheered him.

“Cannot wait for your brand, brother?” Ortius called out.

Harry shot him a grin. “Why wait?” He said back. “I am already a brother in all but brand, I would make it official.”

Crixus clapped his shoulder as he passed him, handing in his wooden weapons to Pietros and standing in the circle of other gladiators to watch. Harry took deep breaths, making sure that no sign of fear could be discerned from his face, body, eyes or breathing. These men knew the signs, they knew what to look for, and they could scent out fear like blood hounds. Harry didn’t want them turning on him just because he was scared.

Doctore stood by his side and Harry looked at him.

“You are scared.”

“Of course. That doesn’t mean they should know of it or see it.” Harry answered back. “I would not have them think less of me because I have never suffered in such a way before.”

“Take a deep breath before the brand is placed and clench your jaw. Do not put your tongue through your teeth or you are likely to lose it. When the brand meets skin, hiss through your teeth until the breath is gone. Breathe deeply through your nose afterwards.”

Harry nodded, repeating the advice in his head over and over. He wanted to lick his lips in a nervous gesture, but he didn’t want anyone to see, so he moved his lips inward to lick them without his tongue leaving his mouth. This was nerve wracking, and despite trying to control any outward signs of fear, he couldn’t deny that he was very scared.

“Ah, we are all gathered ready.”

“Dominus.” They all said together in greeting of Quintus Batiatus, who had come out onto the sands to join them.

“Harian, are you ready?”

“Yes, Dominus.” He said steadily. He was trying to work out which had been worse, this, or waiting for his turn in the arena not once, but twice. It was rather close.

The brand had already been placed in the fire by Doctore, who would be the one to brand him, but Harry would swear his oath to his Dominus.

“Recite the sacramentum gladiatorum, Harian.” His Dominus told him. “Before me and all your brothers.”

Harry took a breath, praying that his words would not get muddled up, despite how short a passage he actually had to recite.

“I commit my flesh, my mind and my will to the glory of this ludus and to the commands of my master, Batiatus. I swear to be burned, chained, beaten or die by the sword for honour in the arena.”

He sucked in a huge breath as Doctore took the brand from the fire and brought it to him and he silenced himself quickly, holding out his right arm, nice and steady in a parody of willingness. His wrist was caught and held tight; Doctore obviously didn’t trust him, and he was right not to. The brand touched his flesh and if he had not locked his knees he would have thrown himself backwards away from the pain, and his arm reflexively jerked, as Harry tried to move away from the searing hot metal, but Doctore had a strong, unrelenting grip on his wrist, and he held his arm still, and firm to the brand. Harry locked his spine straight and he refused to squirm after the initial reaction. He stood like a block of wood as the brand was applied, staring ahead in the middle distance, refusing to even open his mouth. He was making soft, pained noises, whimpering, breathing heavy, none of which could be heard as he had silenced himself.

It passed like an eternity to Harry, locked in his body with the pain of it, not allowing himself any release of that pain as it surged through his body from his forearm, then finally the hot iron was pulled away, and it was then that Harry screamed, unheard to the others. The pain lingered, shooting white hot agony through his arm and out to the rest of his body, but it had lessened now that the hot brand had been removed.

His head spun and he remembered to breathe, letting out a soft, shaky breath through his nose and taking in another, nice and deep to control himself. Once he thought he could trust himself, he removed the silencer upon himself, trying not to let any pained whimpering slip out.

“That was it?” One gladiator demanded several moments later as Doctore turned away from him. “No fucking noise?”

“You’re not even going to scream for us? Or say anything at all?”

“Fucking ow!” Harry turned to tell them.

That set them all off laughing and Harry stood still for a moment longer, breathing deeply and staring at the red raw letter ‘B’ that was now branded into his right forearm.

“You did well.” Doctore told him. “Better than most men who take the mark of the brotherhood.”

Harry was clapped on the shoulder as Doctore turned to remove the fire and the brand. He was clapped on the shoulder again, this time by his Dominus.

“You are destined for brilliant things.” The man told him with a grin. “I was thinking on what to get you as a reward for your win in the arena, I have come up with naught, what would you like in honour of such a momentous win and such an easy branding? Within reason, of course.”

“Food, Dominus.” Harry replied without pause. “For me and my brothers to share. If we may.”

“Food? That is all?” The man asked in confused surprise.

Harry nodded happily.

“I will see it done, you shall have a feast tomorrow evening for your spectacular victories.” He said, clapping his small shoulder again.

He strode happily back to his villa and then Harry was embraced by his new, official brothers as they all touched him or clapped his shoulder or back, ruffling his hair and Harry smiled.

“Not even a fucking sound!” Barca said happily and proudly. “Our new tiny brother is strong!”

“I learn from those around me.” Harry complimented.

“What did Dominus want with you?”

“He was asking what I want as a reward for my win in the arena.”

“Women and wine!”

Harry laughed. “They are the usual rewards, but I do not want women and I can’t have wine while so young, it would ruin my training, so Dominus was at a loss as to what to get me, so he asked me what I wanted.”

“What did you ask for?”

“Something for all of my new brothers to share in on.” Harry said with a grin.

They all cheered and Harry laughed.

“What is it?” Crixus asked, but Harry just grinned.

“You can’t hold out on us!”

“I’m not!” Harry laughed. “You’re sharing my reward, I’m just not telling you what it is.”

“What would our tiny brother want as a reward if he doesn’t want wine or whores?”

“Boys!”

Harry laughed. “I’m a boy myself, I don’t want anything like that. I have no interest in sex.”

“You said that you would have Barca again.”

“I’m just teasing.” Harry insisted. “I don’t want sex with anyone; boy, girl, man, woman or Barca.”

“What did you ask for?” Barca asked him as they were herded to their eating area for their third bowl of barley porridge of the day. “Your own cell? A better blanket?”

Harry gave him a wink and hopped off with his own bowl, holding it in his left hand, as he didn’t yet trust his right, which felt shaky. He was having trouble curling his hand into a fist.

He sat next to Pietros, on the end of their table where Barca usually sat so that no one accidentally touched or brushed against his raw brand. He ate the barley porridge happily with his left hand, knowing that this time tomorrow they would have something different. He wasn’t expecting a lot, or even miracles, he knew about the Dominus’ money worries, they all did, but he didn’t care if they had just something new, even fruit, to go with their barley porridge.

He was almost done eating when a hand clamped hard around his new brand and he yelled out in pain, almost blinded by having such a raw burn touched so tightly, as fingernails dug into it, tearing the fragile, already abused skin.

Barca was up and fighting with someone before Harry had blinked the tears from his eyes, Crixus joining him. Pietros scooted over to hold him and Harry turned to sob onto his shoulder.

“…and I will cripple your other fucking leg!” He heard Crixus call out. Ashur, his mind supplied. Of course it was fucking Ashur.

“Do you need the medicus?” Pietros asked him. Harry nodded slightly.

Pietros stood up and pulled him up too, holding him when Harry found his knees loose and unwilling to hold him up without support. Harry looked to the brand, which was bleeding profusely, rivers of blood running down to his elbow where it wasn’t dripping off, but running in a constant stream, even as Harry held his other hand over the brand to stem the flow, clutching it to his chest, but the pain of touching it was unbearable. He didn’t know what to do for the best, hold it and stem the blood flow despite the pain, or let go and let it bleed.

“Barca. Crixus! What is the meaning of this?!” Doctore wrangled them all in with a flash of his whip.

“He attacked our new brother, Doctore.” Crixus said.

“We were just showing him what happens when one of the brotherhood is attacked.” Barca added.

“Harian?”

Doctore looked for him in the eating area, catching sight of him pale and bloodied, holding his dripping arm to his chest protectively.

“To the medicus, now. Ashur, in the hole.”

“I am expected by Dominus…”

“He will do without you for the night.” Doctore said coldly.

Barca gave him a last kick as he watched Harry go past with his blooded arm before he turned and caught up to them, escorting him and Pietros to the medicus.

“What have you done now?” The decrepit filth asked as they arrived.

Harry held out his arm and the man tutted. He didn’t even wash his hands before touching him. Harry pushed his magic into his right arm, hoping that he didn’t get any infections from being touched.

“The branding wouldn’t have done this.” The man said.

“Ashur dug his fingernails into the brand and tore it open.” Pietros explained.

The medicus nodded. “The skin would have been thin and fragile after the brand, it wouldn’t have taken much to tear it open. It is a weakness until it heals and scars over.”

A thick, herbal paste was smeared over the brand and it was wrapped up tight. His arm was cleaned of blood and he was given a bitter drink to help with the pain. He was sent on his way as easily as that. Barca thankfully supported him as he was still shaky on his feet.

“You make not a sound as you are branded, but yell like a child when that filth touches it.”

“I was prepared for the brand.” Harry said weakly. “I watched it, I knew it was coming. I didn’t even see Ashur sneak up on me. I wasn’t expecting it to be touched, much less to have anyone dig their fucking fingernails into it.”

Barca nodded his understanding and Harry was helped to his new cell. Thankfully he wasn’t sharing with Gnaeus. He was sharing with Donar, Fulco and Pollux.

“Our tiny brother, how do you fare?” Donar asked.

“Worse than I was an hour ago.” He groused.

“Look after him tonight, brothers. That wretch has torn open his arm.” Barca said, in part camaraderie and part warning.

“I hate that snake.” Pollux hissed. “Would that we could kill him.”

“I’m going to.” Harry hissed himself, through pain gritted teeth. “As soon as I find a fitting death for him…something that isn’t too quick, but is the most painful.”

They all laughed at him, not at the thought of him killing anyone, but because they believed him and were cheering him on. That truly spoke volumes as to how very little they thought of Ashur.

“Rest, Harian. Let herbs do their work.” Barca told him as he passed him over to Donar, who settled him down in his bedroll. “Watch him, medicus said he might get a fever.”

Harry was once again pushed up into the top of the cell, so that anyone coming in had to step over Pollux, Fulco and then Donar, who was taking Spartacus’ usual place and sleeping in front of him…Harry hoped he proved to be just as good a guard as Spartacus had been, he’d never had a quarrel with any of these men, but neither did he know them too well. That would have to change if he was sharing a cell with them. For now though, he just needed some sleep.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ X

Harry was alright the next day, the pain had dulled with the herbs and he didn’t have much of a fever, just a bit of a heavy feeling that slowed him down. He was excluded from training in case his arm opened up again, but he kept himself busy by assisting Pietros, even though he’d been told it wasn’t necessary, he’d wanted to keep himself moving.

He’d almost forgotten that his reward was going to be today, but as the sun set, he got a bit more excited.

“You’re feeling better.” Crixus remarked as he handed in his wooden weapons.

“My reward is tonight.” Harry said with a smile.

“Now?” Barca asked.

Harry grinned as he saw there was a small amount of food laid out on one of the tables.

“Now!” He said happily as he grabbed Pietros and pulled him to the table of food that wasn’t barley porridge.

Barca laughed. “You asked for food?” He said.

“I have to feed up my new brothers!” Harry laughed.

Harry was very popular because of his choice of a reward, whores couldn’t be shared, wine could be shared, but there often wasn’t enough for more than a mouthful each. The food laid out was enough for all of them to have something to supplement the bowl of barley porridge and the bread ration. Including one whole chicken, that allowed for them to have a few slices of meat each, a rarity down here in the ludus as they were mostly on a vegetarian diet.

“You’re not brothers!” Rhaskos spat at the rest of Harry’s recruitment class.

Harry jumped in immediately. “I was trained with these men, we did our nightly training together. Let them eat. The only person I don’t want to share with is Ashur, because of this.” He held out his bandaged arm. “There is enough for everyone and I would share with all, not just my branded brothers, but those I was trained with too. They are to go through their own tests in just a week. Let them have a taste of a proper meal before their end.”

That brought back the laughter and Harry used it to smile and wink at Spartacus. He moved over to them.

“You’ll be my brothers soon enough.” He said to him and Varro. “The others I’m not too sure about, I don’t even want Marcus to survive after learning he was involved in the plot to rape me and Pietros, but you two, yes. You are already brothers to me, eat.”

Spartacus clapped his shoulder and Varro did the same.

“You’re a good man, Harian.”

Harry laughed. “Truthfully I’m not even a man yet.” He smiled.

“Yet still a better one than most.”

Harry laughed and he turned back to Barca, going to him and wrapping his arms around his neck and leaning on him. He took an olive from his plate and popped it into his mouth, chewing it with relish, just tasting something that wasn’t fucking porridge. He spat the pit out onto the floor.

“To our new brother, who is sharing his reward with us and letting us eat as men and brothers!” Donar called out.

The others all cheered and Harry laughed, even as he ate as much as he possibly could.

“Who else would I share with?” He cried out. “Other than the men who have taught me what I need to know in order to survive in the arena. You are my brothers, and brothers’ share what they have.”

Once the food was gone, they were all rather sleepy and full. It was the best meal many of them had had in years and they were all sat quietly, savouring it and the taste still lingering on their tongues.

“I see you’re all getting on well.” Their Doctore came to check on them, smiling at them as they sat quietly or slumped over tables.

“I can’t remember ever eating so well.” One called out.

“New recruits to your cell. I’ve left you as long as I can.”

It was only Spartacus, Varro, Kerza, and Marcus who were new recruits now, despite that their test was coming up soon, and the four of them were herded off to the single cell that they shared. Harry was no longer included in their group, he was no longer a recruit, he was a gladiator, and he had earned his brand.

Harry shifted tighter into Barca to get warm and he yawned. Despite it being early compared to when they usually went to bed, some of the gladiators trudged off to go to sleep too. Being well fed did wonders for their temperaments.

“Barca’s not going to get to fuck you both tonight, you’ll have to fight for his attentions.” Crixus told him and Pietros.

“Barca’s too tired every night.” Harry jumped in immediately. “He can’t handle having two boys to satisfy, so neither of us will be getting his attention tonight.”

Pietros let out a tired laugh and Harry grinned.

“See, even Pietros knows it.”

“If I were not so well fed I would throw you over the cliff.”

Harry chuckled softly, but he didn’t move. “I need my bed.” He complained.

“I would take you, brother.” Donar insisted, coming over and picking him up. “I am going myself.”

“Donar!” Harry complained. “I’m not a child.”

“You are.” Crixus laughed.

Harry huffed. “Fine. Carry me to bed, Donar and don’t bloody drop me.”

Donar laughed. “Of course not, brother. Gratitude for the food.”

Harry smiled. “It was my pleasure to feed you all.”

Harry was placed down carefully on his bed roll and he slipped inside it happily. He wriggled about for a little while, but he eventually settled down and he fell asleep to the snores of his well-fed brothers. He smiled to himself and he considered the food well received. Perhaps now he wouldn’t be the main target for his brothers’ attentions. He wanted some peace from the torment and though he could handle the banter with them, and the remarks of Barca and Crixus, it was Gnaeus and Ashur he wanted to get rid of. He wouldn’t worry about Marcus, because Barca had sworn that he would kill the shit, and Harry could well believe it.   
There was banter and play, which he could deal with, and then there was abuse, and both Gnaeus and Ashur fell into the latter category and he would remove it, and them, from being near him in whatever way was required. If food and companionship failed, then there was pain and fear, if that failed too…well, there was only one option left after that. Death.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ X

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Another week, another chapter, a bit calmer in this chapter, but I promise that the action will be back now with chapter 5, the Vulcanalia has come, and with it, Harry’s second arena fight…or would that be third? Either way, our poor boy is going to be put through the wringer yet again, and he’ll once again have to fight for his life. I almost feel sorry for doing it…almost.
> 
> Harry is accepted by most of his new brothers, the animosity has dropped off, and he is a part of them as if the hazing never happened in the first place, but then it’s all ritual for them.
> 
> Once again I hope that you enjoyed this chapter, lovelies, thank you all so much for your previous enjoyment and support of this fic, and I will see you again in another week, with Chapter Five – Vulcanalia,
> 
> StarLight Massacre. X


	5. Vulcanalia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last Time
> 
> There was banter and play, which he could deal with, and then there was abuse, and both Gnaeus and Ashur fell into the latter category and he would remove it, and them, from being near him in whatever way was required. If food and companionship failed, then there was pain and fear, if that failed too…well, there was only one option left after that. Death.

Chapter Five - Vulcanalia

The Vulcanalia approached rapidly and Harry threw himself into his training, switching between Barca, as the only decent hoplomachus, Gnaeus, the only Retiarius, and others who were either murmillones, or secutors, or samnites. Harry had not been classed yet, but he was jumping between murmillo and samnite, as a sword and dagger were his weapons of choice, but both carried heavy armour, which Harry couldn’t manage due to his slightness and tendency to get tired quickly. He could not even handle the spear or trident and he was too short to entrap his opponent in a net. He did not fit any class of gladiator, thus he was sort of doing his own thing, having bits cobbled together from all classes. He had the sword and dagger of a murmillo, the small shield attached to his arm of a hoplomachus, and the light padded armour of a Thraex.

Three of his recruitment class had passed their test, Spartacus, Varro and Kerza. Barca had finally gotten his chance and he had killed Marcus with a single blow of the sword after the man had panicked with nervousness and he had rushed at Barca like an untrained lamb. Barca had killed him like a lamb too, with a single blow of his sword to the back of his neck, and thus he had gotten his revenge for Marcus’ involvement in the plot to rape Pietros, and Harry too.

The three of those remaining had been branded with enough time to heal, ready for the Vulcanalia which was now the following day.

After their training and their evening meals, Harry had been bathed and oiled up along with everyone else and he was stood, in a square, with his brothers in the villa of their Dominus, being touched and prodded by the guests who had come to see those who would fight in the Vulcanalia the next day. He looked like a small, misplaced boy between Barca and Pollux.

“He is so tiny!” One man said, holding his wrist and running his hand up his arm to his shoulder. “So soft! Batiatus, how did you ever procure this boy? He has actually won in the arena you say?”

“Yes, two fights, the first against two opponents and the second against a murmillo. He came away with not a scratch.”

“Your mark is the only one upon him?”

“It is.” Batiatus agreed, pulling Harry’s other arm and showing off the healed letter ‘B’ on his right forearm.

“He is so beautiful.” The man said in a breathless way that Harry didn’t like.

“He is, I can’t wait to see him on the sands tomorrow.” Another man said, walking over and giving Harry a leer. “Let us hope he survives. The odds are against him again.”

“The odds are always going to be against him, but Harian has proven himself.”

The men moved away and Harry blew out a relieved, shaky breath, he reached out to touch Barca for a moment, grounding himself, before standing back with his hands by his side.

“Calm your heart, Dominus won’t want you harmed tonight.” Barca whispered to him. “You fight on the morrow and he won’t risk you falling on the sands.”

“That is little comfort when they can easily come back at a later date.” Harry worried. “I don’t want that to happen to me. Not again.”

“Worry about it when it happens. You need to focus on the Vulcanalia. You can’t afford to be distracted.”

Harry was touched some more and even blatantly groped. He was pulled out of line and subjected to heavy molestation, hands slipping into his subligaria to touch him in intimate places. He had to bite his lip and close his eyes, ducking his head in shame as he was touched and stroked by bigger, older men who laughed over him as if he were a mere toy. To them, as a mere slave, he _was_ just a toy for them to play with.

Spartacus came as a big distraction, when he launched himself at Crixus’ back and started beating on him. Harry slid back into line, resting on Barca as he tried to hold back his sobs. Barca’s arm slid around his back and held him gently as everyone watched Spartacus and Crixus fight on the floor of the villa.

Harry didn’t remember anything else as he clung to Barca and sniffled, trying not to cry in front of these people. He did hear that Spartacus was being given the Primus fight against Crixus, but that was about all he heard over the rushing of blood in his ears.

They were dismissed back down to the ludus after that, their Dominus clearly not trusting in any of them, and Harry took himself away to his cell, crawling into his bedroll. It took ten minutes for Pietros to find him and he sat beside him and played with his hair.

“Barca told me what happened. Are you well?”

Harry nodded.

“You don’t have to hide. Not with me.”

Harry sat up and threw his arms around his friend and he cried onto him.

Pietros, a little overwhelmed with this show, took a few moments to react before he wrapped Harry up tightly in his arms and shushed him gently.

“I don’t want anyone to…to touch me like that.” He cried.

Pietros held him tighter and stroked his hair, comforting him and calming him down until he wasn’t full out crying anymore, just snuffling and hiccupping now and then.

“Do you feel better?” Pietros asked him gently.

Harry nodded, sniffling, but he still held Pietros tighter.

“When I first came here, I was just a slave boy, with no hope of rising to be a gladiator, one of the brotherhood. The men targeted me, they touched me, groped me, and tried to force themselves on me and I had no way to say no to them. I am a slave, even to them. I couldn’t fight them, there was nothing I could do. I was expected to be used by them, it comes with being assigned to the ludus, not the villa. The boy before me, that I was bought to replace, he was so roughly used that he just died.”

Harry flinched at hearing that and Pietros shushed him. “Were you okay?” He asked.

“Those first few weeks were terrible. I tried to avoid them all as much as I could. I put up with their unwelcomed touches on the sands and then I hid when they had any free time at all. I almost drowned once because I hid in the pool when some of them came searching for me. It only really stopped when one of them finally took notice of my plight and put a stop to it.”

“Barca.” Harry said with a smile.

Pietros nodded, but he sighed too. “He’d only lost his previous lover, Auctus, a few months before. He was another gladiator, who fell in the arena. The birds were his, Barca kept them as they were all he had to remember him by. He was still getting over the loss when I arrived, he never used to smile much, or laugh with the others, all his free time was spent in his cell, with the birds. He was blind to me at first, so he didn’t help against his brothers.”

“When did he wake up and finally see you?” Harry asked.

“When I was ordered by Doctore to bathe him ready for a fight. I was on my knees, scraping off his legs, when he finally looked at me and our eyes caught. I knew it was the first time he was properly seeing me, because he sort of looked at me like he’d never seen me before.”

“He couldn’t resist you.” Harry chuckled wetly.

“It started off slowly. He would lash out at anyone who tried to hurt me. He stopped the others from touching me and harassing me, he stopped them from taking my food, where they would only give it back to me in exchange for sexual favours…I realised that he was my best chance for protection and I stuck close to him as the others were wary and respectful of him. I didn’t know at the time why he was offering me his protection, but I knew I needed it, so I used to follow him around as much as I could. I’d get him things and help him to bathe or prepare for a fight. I made myself useful so that he’d carry on protecting me. I don’t know when I started to love him, or he in return, but soon enough he would throw an arm around me, or kiss me and I would kiss him back. I would worry and fret when he was listed for a fight and I would be so happy when he came back, sometimes cut, bruised and bleeding, but otherwise the victor and he soon came to expect me to welcome him back. It took a while to admit that what we had between us had turned into love, but after a very clear, but hard won victory, he came back in such high spirits and…well he took me straight to his cell and proceeded to show me exactly how much he had come to care for me. I love him.”

“As he loves you.” Harry said softly.

“I cannot hope to hold light to Auctus. A real gladiator.”

“A man can love more than one person, Pietros. You are not in competition with a dead man.” Harry told him sternly. “Barca loves you, as he loved Auctus. He is going to love and remember you both.”

“If Auctus had not fallen…”

“Barca was caught by you the moment he saw you. Who is to know what might have happened had Auctus lived?” Harry said. “Perhaps you might have caught the attention of both of them and even now you could be the lover caught between two hard bodies and not just one.” He teased with a wicked giggle.

Pietros gasped at the thought and laughed.

“No one can say what might have happened, Pietros, but what has happened is laid out bare. Barca adores you. Do not cheapen his love by pushing it off on to a dead lover.”

“Do you feel better now?” Pietros asked.

Harry nodded.

“It took me so much willpower not to kill them with my bare fucking hands.” He said, pulling back to rub his eyes, sniffing hard.

“You’d have been crucified.” Pietros said sadly.

“Some things are worth death. I will die before I let that happen to me.” Harry said. “With Barca it was different. We were both ordered to do it, those stuck up, self-entitled bastards who just expect it and wouldn’t care a damn about my comfort or pain. I won’t put up with it.”

Pietros held him back to his chest and cuddled him. Harry smiled and snuggled in tight.

“Haven’t you cheered him up yet?”

Harry looked up as Barca came into the cell and touched both their heads.

“I feel better.” Harry said with a small smile.

“Good. You fight tomorrow, you cannot afford to be distracted.”

Harry nodded. “I know. I’m going to get some sleep now, so I’m well rested. Pietros, don’t keep him up all night, let him have some rest.” Harry teased.

Pietros laughed. “I can’t make that promise.” He winked.

That made Barca look at his lover in surprise, but he smiled and helped Pietros to his feet. Barca gave Harry a soft touch to the cheek before he pulled Pietros away.

“Come, if you wish for all my attention this night, we had best get started.” Barca told his lover as they left Harry’s cell for their own.

Harry chuckled and rolled over onto his side again. He truly did feel better and he was able to sleep easier. Or as easy as he could knowing that tomorrow he would be back in the arena, back on the sands, fighting to save his life.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ X

It was better and worse fighting with his brothers the next day. They had all been up at dawn, they had eaten, bathed and helped each other oil up (Harry had only allowed Barca and Pietros to oil him, despite numerous offers to help from others), they had then helped one another into their armour. His newest friend, Donar, had willingly helped Harry with this, and then they had been chained up together in single file to be walked to the arena for the early morning, their cloaks wrapped tight around them. They were all locked in the same cell together, again it had a grille so that they could look out upon the sand and that was exactly what his brothers were all doing, jostling one another until they could see the fights happening beyond the grille.

Harry had again placed a single coin upon himself for luck and given the marker to Oenomaus. He’d told Pietros where to find his other winnings, in the foot of his bedroll, just in case he died in the arena. He could trust Pietros to only take the coin if he was already dead. He had reworked the charm upon his purse of coin so that Pietros would be able to see it, though when Harry died, all his previous spells would be voided. He hoped that Pietros would grab the coin quickly in that case, he would have none other lay claim to it.

He’d hidden himself in the corner and stayed away from the grille, not understanding how his brothers could watch the games as spectators. When Barca took to the sands Harry was almost sick with terror for his friend. He needn’t have worried, Barca came back twenty minutes later with a few bleeding cuts, but he was alive and smiling. He was greeted happily by the others as he came back to them a victor.

The next fight was between two men that none of them knew from other ludi. Rabanus fought next, he was the victor and he came back to them a little battered, but none the worse for wear, then it was Harry’s turn to take to the sands and he stood on jellied legs.

“Come on, brother!” Crixus coaxed him, trying to fire him up and knock him from his sickly looking pallor. “Come back to us.”

“You’ll do fine.” Barca added, pulling him into a hug, pressing a kiss to his head, ignoring the twinge in his heart as those too wide, beautiful green eyes all but begged him to make this better. “Watch your energy and conserve as much as you can. Lead him to you, draw him in and remember that to rashly charge your opponent is to give him the upper hand. Pace yourself and strategise, let him come to you.”

Harry made it to the cell door and he walked out, their Doctore locked the cell again and led him over to the gate that led onto the sand.

“He’s another murmillo.” Oenomaus told him as he held out Harry’s tiny helmet. “As you are not classed, they seem to think pitting you against the heavily armoured murmillo is their best bet.”

“Didn’t work out for Solonius, why should it for Vibius?”

“That’s the attitude. Get out there and kill Vibius’ little fish and come back.”

Harry swallowed hard. “Has this one gone for size too?”

“He is a shade shorter than the murmillo you faced before, but he is of the same build; tall, thickset and heavy.”

Harry nodded and as his name was called out, he put the helmet on and wandered onto the sands, looking more like a lost child who’d accidentally found himself wandering out than any true gladiator. He was the one expected to lose this match, thus he came out first. The crowd, remembering him from a few weeks ago, cheered for him, nudging their neighbour and telling all those in the vicinity who hadn’t been there for Harry’s first games the story of how he’d executed two noxii and then killed a murmillo against phenomenal odds.

The man who came in to face him was another murmillo, as Doctore had said, and he was again of a size that made him look ridiculous in comparison. The man towered over him and left Harry needing to crane his head back to see his face, he could see the middle of his chest armour when looking ahead.

“How, by the gods, did you ever beat anyone?” The man guffawed.

“Close your mouth and I’ll show you.” Harry hissed.

“Little enraged cat.” The man laughed.

Harry smiled and he chuckled as he realised that he was being taunted again. It wasn’t going to work, especially if the best this guy could come up with was to compare him to a cat. He needed to keep his mind clear and on the fight. He needed his magic tight and his senses sharp.

“Begin!” The editor…this time an old man with long white hair, called out loudly and the murmillo immediately charged at him.

Harry dodged out of the way and stuck out his leg. It fucking hurt, but the man actually fell flat on his face into the sand. He got up just as quickly, scrabbling in the sand, so Harry didn’t have a single moment to take advantage of it, but a murmur of laughter ringed the arena and Harry smiled behind his helmet.

“You little shit!”

The man swiped quickly, running through a series of attacks that Harry needed all of his concentration to follow, he twisted twice, a good decision as if he had only twisted once, he would have been skewered through with his opponent’s sword.

He took a blow to the shield that threw him from his feet and made his left arm useless and numb. He rolled backwards and got to his feet, his shield up and ready, just in time to take another blow on it. He managed to keep upright this time, but he was forced to his knees. He could see what was about to happen and he countered by rolling forward…between the man’s legs as his opponent lunged forward with a stab, expecting him to back roll and get to his feet as he’d done before.

Harry turned and stabbed through the side of his opponent, putting all of his weight behind his sword. He’d aimed for the back, but his opponent had already started to turn towards him, realising his mistake.

The murmillo roared in pain and Harry quickly yanked out his sword and ducked his head behind his little shield, skipping back several paces, waiting for his opponent to come to him. The man held his side as blood coated his hand from the long stab wound that went through and through. Unfortunately it didn’t seem to have hit anything vital, just the meat of his side.

Harry expected him to come at him cautiously now that he’d been badly wounded, he did no such thing. He charged like an enraged bull, as Gnaeus had during training…it was a pity that Harry didn’t have another palus on hand to ram him into. The arena wall was regretfully too far away to be used instead.

Harry dived out of the way and rolled to his feet, turning and trying to figure out a way to down this man, who was acting more like a wild animal at the moment.

Harry held his own as best as he could with the next series of attacks, he dodged, twisted and avoided his opponent, booted his wounded side with his sand covered sandal…then the worst thing possible happened. A blow that came from the right, his opponent’s left, forced him to quickly, frantically block with his sword and not his shield, or be cut in half, and it was much too powerful a blow for him to handle. It disarmed him. His sword flew from his hand and landed several feet away. Harry sucked in a huge, reflexive breath before he swallowed hard with a suddenly bone dry throat. He could almost hear his brothers in his head ‘He’s dead now’, ‘It’s all over’, ‘A man cannot win without a weapon’…that last was sounded in Crixus’ voice.

He refused to just give up though and he twitched, fighting himself against doing the foolish obvious and lunging for his dropped sword through fear, instead he did the one thing that he thought would keep him alive, at least for a little while longer.

His opponent read his twitch as movement and, expecting him to do the foolish obvious and go for his sword, he stabbed out at where he thought Harry was heading. Harry did the opposite, he ran right past his lunging opponent, straight to the wall of the arena with the murmillo, having realised his mistake, turning and giving chase, full of confidence now that he was not only against a tiny boy, but an unarmed one who was running from him at that. After all, presenting your back was one of the worst things that you could do in the arena, in any fight, as you couldn’t see the attack coming, you couldn’t prepare or try to counter, all you could do was take the blow when it eventually came. Harry was hoping that he could run a little faster than the heavily armed and armoured murmillo, so that his back wasn’t sliced in half before his crazy, half formed plan was even started.

Harry had no idea if this was even going to work as he tugged off his shield and threw it to the side, getting it out of the way as his heart hammered in his chest with the fear of what he was planning to do, his magic curled just under the surface of his skin. He slowed down just a little, allowing his opponent to get closer, until Harry could hear him through the blood pounding in his ears, the murmillo was grunting heavily behind him, his breathing laboured, trying to push himself to get closer to his fleeing target as he ran with him, trying to catch him up, trying to cut him down as he ran with his unprotected back exposed to him.

Harry reached the arena wall and he jumped forward, kicking his stronger right leg against the wall and pushing off from it, launching himself backwards, his body already turned at the hips, following his left leg that he’d moved to lead his landing. He wrapped his arms around his opponent’s neck and he used the momentum of his leap to pull his opponent to the ground, the man choking as the force of Harry’s skinny arms against his neck cut off his breathing for a moment as they both travelled in opposite directions. They hit the sand, Harry on his belly on top of his opponent’s back, who was also on his belly and currently winded and wheezing from the force of the unexpected move, and from landing on his hard, unyielding shield that unfortunately for him had a curved edge that had slammed straight into his ribs. The both of them had lost their helmets, his opponent had also lost his grip on his shield, having dropped it when Harry had wrapped his arms about his neck and it was now currently trapped underneath him, and Harry seized his opportunity while he could, while his opponent was still dazed and confused from what had just happened and still winded from the hard landing on his chest, with Harry landing just as hard on his back with all his bony knees and elbows, and he took the sword from the hand of his surprised opponent, moving quickly now, knowing that this would be his only chance at survival, he rolled up to his knees and then surged to his feet as his opponent was still dazed and trying to figure out what had just happened and why he was suddenly on his belly in the sand when he’d been chasing a fleeing, unarmed boy and was almost assured of victory. Harry grabbed his opponent’s hair and he yanked his neck to his own blade.

He was breathing heavily, clenching his arse tight against the urge to shit himself where he stood, trying to blink the sand and sweat from his eyes as he let the noises of the arena finally filter through. He heard cheers, shouts, his own name and his eyes found the pulvinus, where the editor stood, waiting for the crowd to influence his decision.

He held up his fist and showed the pollice verso, his thumb out to the side and the crowd went mad, screaming for death and blood. The thumb turned down and as his restless opponent saw this, his strength and breath now returned after his confusion over Harry’s quick movements, and realised what it meant, he tried to break free of Harry’s grasp.

“I won’t be beaten by no little boy! You’re not better than me, you got lucky!” He roared, squirming as Harry tried to control him with his hair. “You’re not better than me!”

Harry kicked hard at the wound in his side and the man bellowed. He was showing cowardice and the crowd booed and heckled him as they saw it, screaming for Harry to kill him. Harry was momentarily winded when the man drove an elbow back into his belly allowing him to escape and crawl away a little before Harry gathered himself, knowing that he could still lose his life if this carried on, and he reached forward and yanked his opponent back onto his arse, where he immediately stabbed down through the collarbone and into the heart. He yanked the sword free with a bit of difficulty and threw it to the side, letting the body fall with a muted thump as he did so. He remembered to raise his fist and then he trudged back to the gate, his legs wobbling as the tension and fear drained from him, leaving nothing to support him upright.

He once again fell into Oenomaus’ arms, holding him tight, trying to control his sobbing and keep his feet...and his stomach.

“I got this for you. Eat it now, quickly, the others aren’t to know.”

Harry took the sausage and smiled weakly. “I always knew I was your favourite, Doctore.” He giggled.

“A little something for a fight well fought.”

“I thought I was dead when he disarmed me.” Harry said, chomping huge chunks from the sausage and chewing quickly, battling his stomach to keep it down.

“Yet you kept a clear head and thought of a way to defeat him, armed or not. I prayed that you would not go for the sword. The gods saw fit to grant as such.”

Harry shook his head and swallowed. “I didn’t even know if it would work.” He admitted. “But I knew that going for the sword was the worst possible option, he was waiting for me to run to it. I knew that the shield was in the way of what I was planning to do, that’s why I threw it. I needed both arms to get around his neck and the shield would have been in the way. I prayed too that he ran with his sword down by his hip, not up by his chest or I would have skewered myself. So much could have gone wrong.”

“Calm yourself, it worked. You surprised him so much that you were able to disarm him in turn.”

Harry nodded and finished the last bit of his sausage. “I was aiming for his back with the one thrust.” He said, taking the cup of water offered to him and gulping.

“I saw.” Oenomaus said. “He turned just as you thrust forward, you still injured him badly as he wasn’t quick enough. That’s the trouble with murmillones, their armour is heavy and cumbersome, as is their shield, they are not as quick on their feet.”

Harry shivered as he handed back his empty cup. “I’m cold. I want Barca.”

Oenomaus sighed. “I shall collect your winnings and keep them safe for you until we are back at the ludus.”

Harry nodded as he was led back to the cell that held the men of house Batiatus. He smiled as it came into view. Doctore unlocked it quickly for him and he was let in to the cheers and congratulation of his brothers.

“We thought we were going to lose you, tiny!” Barca said, holding him tight.

“Unfortunately, my plan to be free of you all failed.” He giggled with remnant nerves and delayed terror.

Crixus clapped his back, but Harry let go of Barca to hold Crixus.

“Why are you so cold?” He asked as he touched Harry’s icy skin with worry. “It did not look like you were injured from here, but that fall was heavy, were you injured then?”

“I’m in shock, it’ll pass.” Harry said, even as his teeth chattered and his body trembled.

“To me.” Barca said to Crixus and the other man hustled Harry back over to Barca, who wrapped him in those big arms and held him. “Pietros would not speak to me if I let you die of cold.”

“You’ll be sleeping on the floor of your own cell.” Harry giggled.

“A thought I do not relish.” Barca smiled.

None of them were up in the next bout, but they heckled and taunted from the cell, debating over form and who they thought would win. Harry stayed wrapped in Barca’s arms, who’d moved over to join his brothers’ watching the next fight. Harry buried his face in Barca’s belly and tried not to hear anything.

It took about ten minutes before the shaking stopped and his teeth to stay still. He could breathe easier and the shock had finally passed, but the exhaustion had come back. He was so tired that he felt as if he could sleep where he was stood.

He slipped from Barca and went to the other side of the cell, he sat down on the stone floor, as a confused Barca watched, and he laid down.

“You’re not dying?” Barca called out to him.

“I’m tired now.” Harry said, yawning. “I need a nap.”

“You fucking child.” Ortius teased.

“I’m half your size and half your age and I came out of my fight without a scratch.” Harry pointed out as he laid down on his side and curled up. “I deserve a fucking nap.”

He thought that it would be difficult to sleep with the noise, the roaring of the crowd as they screamed for blood and stomped their feet, but it was surprisingly easy to drift off into an exhausted doze, where he wasn’t truly sleeping and every little murmur close to him woke him, but he wasn’t actually fully awake either.

“…if he has died, I will make all of your lives a misery.”

Harry woke up groggily to the voice of his Doctore and he frowned as he filtered the words.

“He’s sleeping, Doctore.” Barca answered. “His fight tired him easily.”

Harry rolled onto his back and he squinted up at the face above his own.

“Ah, so you are alive.”

Harry frowned. “Was tired.” He yawned, stretching.

“Any hidden injures? Any sore muscles?”

Harry frowned and tested himself. He shook his head. “No. I’m fine.”

“You’re blessed by the fucking gods.” Crixus told him.

“I can’t help that I’m so lovable.” Harry chuckled, sitting up.

He stretched again and sighed, before getting to his feet. He bounded over to Barca and snuggled into the man, who said nothing, who didn’t even look at him, but still wrapped his arm around him automatically and pulled him in tight, warming him up with his body heat.

“Has anyone died?”

“Lots.”

“From our brotherhood!” Harry stressed.

“No.” Barca said, looking down at him with a smile. “Our brothers are all too strong.”

“Two brothers are fighting in the Primus.” Harry fretted.

“Crixus will kill him.” Barca said easily.

Harry ducked his head. “I like Spartacus.”

Barca sighed. “You gave him a good meal, remember? Crixus is our champion for a reason, Harian. He’s not going to lose.”

Harry nodded and he slipped away again, back to his corner. He didn’t want to watch brother against brother. The Primus was always to the death, there was no missio and no mercy. Either Crixus or Spartacus would die on those sands and he liked them both.

The Primus was announced and Harry jumped up to hug Crixus tightly. He rested his forehead on his chest and squeezed before letting go and catching Spartacus, just before he left the cell. He did the same, hugging him tight and resting his forehead on his chest. He let go and went to burrow into Barca’s safety.

“I’m not going out there.” Barca laughed.

“Pity!” Crixus called out. “I would have killed you both, but relished the challenge you would bring. I fear this fight will be overly short!”

Harry let out a soft whimper and Barca sighed, tugging on his hair gently. He did the same to Pietros when his lover was upset, both his boys liked having their hair tugged on to calm them.

The fight _was_ overly brief and Crixus was the victor…but Spartacus used the missio for the very first time and he was spared, much to the fury of the crowd. Harry could have choked on his tears he was so happy when Spartacus was led back in with a furious Crixus.

Harry rushed to Spartacus and hugged him tightly.

“Nice to see where your loyalty truly lies.” Crixus spat.

“It was not your life hanging on the turn of a thumb!” Harry told him. “You were the victor.”

“He should have fucking died.” Crixus grunted.

Harry’s arms clenched and he put his face to Spartacus’ chest. “I’m glad you’re alive.” Harry told him.

It took a while before they were chained up and moved, starting the long walk back to the ludus. They were tied to each other this time, because there were so many of them, and Rhaskos, who was behind him, kicked him with every step. He was a Gaul, like Crixus, and he deemed Harry to have upset a kinsman and he was punishing him for it.

“If you kick me one more fucking time you cock gobbling cunt…” Harry trailed off as a harder kick cut him off.

“What is the problem here?” Oenomaus demanded, striding to their area of the line.

“If he kicks me one more fucking time I’m cutting off his fucking feet!” Harry growled.

“You’re moving too slow!” Rhaskos tried to defend.

“We’re all moving at the same pace!” Harry growled.

“Enough of this or you’ll both be in the hole when we get back!”

“I’m not kicking myself, Doctore!” Harry complained.

“You touch him again, Rhaskos and I’ll spear you against the wall on the morrow.” Barca threatened from several people in front.

“Barca, protecting his little fucking whores!” Rhaskos spat.

“Call them whores again and I won’t wait for the morrow!” Barca growled.

“Enough, all of you! The next person to make a noise, or to kick anyone, will spend the night in the fucking hole!” Doctore roared.

Harry shut his mouth, thankfully Rhaskos was not kicking him anymore, but he was threatening him under his breath. When Harry refused to answer him, not raising to the bait, he whispered a bit louder, and he was caught by Doctore for it.

“Rhaskos! What did I say not several minutes past? You’re spending the night in the hole! Carry on and it’ll be two.”

Harry stifled his laughter, keeping his back straight, facing forward. He didn’t want to join Rhaskos after all.

They made it to the ludus and they were unchained. Doctore hauled Rhaskos away to the hole and Harry inspected the back of his legs.

“Are you hurt?” Barca asked, coming straight over to him.

Harry scowled. “No. It’ll bruise, but no real damage done. Fucking cunt.”

“Your insults are getting better.”

“Ah, I’m afraid that’s all thanks to you base creatures.” Harry giggled. “Pietros!”

The young slave boy had come charging out from further inside the ludus and he threw himself at Barca, holding him and kissing him in relief at seeing him alive and mostly unhurt. Harry smiled to see them and he wandered off, leaving them to their love.

He went to the baths and cleaned himself off quickly before he got to his cell, clambered over the sleeping Donar, and he slipped into his own bed roll. He was asleep within minutes, his mind and body exhausted from the stress of the dawn till dusk fighting at the Vulcanalia.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ X

Things were different after the Vulcanalia. Spartacus had been condemned to the fighting pits along with another of their recruitment class, Kerza. He and Varro were the only ones of their class, those that had actually survived thus far, who weren’t deemed as ‘useless and a waste of coin’ thus they were spared from the horrors and certain death of the pits. That first night Spartacus had come back bloody and beaten, half dead on his feet. Kerza hadn’t come back at all.

Harry did what he could for his friend, even Pietros had tried, but Barca had stopped his lover from going near Spartacus quickly. ‘To save him pain and upset’ Barca had explained to him when Harry had confronted him about it. No one survived the pits. Not being set upon night after night, fight after fight with next to no rest in between.

Each new day, Spartacus looked worse and worse, a shell of himself, chained to the wall on the training sands, waiting for the night to come and another trip to the pits. Harry spent his mealtimes with him, sharing his porridge and bread ration and getting him a few drops of water…a drought had started, and water was now scarce and heavily rationed. No one had wasted any on the condemned man chained to the wall.

“You keep coming back, okay?” Harry told him, trying to push more magic into him. “I’m fond of you and you’re stronger than those filthy pits. You’re a better fighter too, a warrior.”

“Couldn’t beat Crixus.” Spartacus croaked.

“These animals in the pits aren’t Crixus. Crixus is a gladiator.” Harry said. “You rushed your fight against Crixus, he’s the champion of Capua for a reason. Don’t try to rise too far too quickly, or you’re like to fall, as you’ve found out. Survive the pits, rise higher again, train harder and make yourself better. Then you can take on Crixus and you’ll win.”

Spartacus smiled at him. “Gratitude, Harian. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“Survive.” Harry said, pumping as much magic into Spartacus as he could.

“What is that?” Spartacus asked, finally unable to stand the feeling that he now knew was coming from Harian and wasn’t in his own mind. “What are you doing?”

Harry smiled at him. “I found out how to do this with Barca. I was worried it would take sex to do it, but it doesn’t. Nothing against you personally, I just don’t want to have sex with anyone.”

“What is it?”

“It’ll help you, now keep still, you’re ruining my concentration.” Harry fed more magic through to Spartacus, draining himself as his magic travelled back and forth, again like wordless letters, so that he could heal small wounds and sore, tired muscles, revitalising the body he was touching. “It’ll help you stay alive.”

“How?”

“Don’t question it. Barca didn’t.”

“Harian, back to the sands.” Doctore yelled out as the others were already stretching and picking up equipment.

“That’s as much as I can do. Please stay alive, Spartacus. Don’t lose your mind.” Harry said, pulling the tendrils back slowly before he stood and stretched.

He took a breath, stumbled and then tried to breathe deeper. He’d used a lot to heal Spartacus, as much as he could possibly spare, but it left him weak.

“You’ve given your life essence to me!” Spartacus said angrily.

Harry blinked stupidly. “It’ll come back.” He assured the distressed seeming man. “I’m only training, you need it more.”

Harry tried to focus, but the lack of magic made him sleepy and slow. It didn’t take long for his Doctore to notice as Varro knocked him back to the sand without him even trying to dodge.

“What is the problem, Harian?” The man demanded.

“I think it’s the sun, Doctore.” Harry whispered. “Do you know what Britannia is like? It rains endlessly, we have a dry month twice a year and it’s never this hot. Never. It’s covered in dense fog that in the cold months can freeze you to death from the inside. This heat, the sun, it’s unbearable.”

A hand touched his face and he groaned, trying to follow the cool hand that had left his head. “You’re fevered. Did you pick up an injury in the arena?”

“No, wasn’t touched.” Harry burbled, but then his mind slipped and he started talking in English, which was a language as yet not invented. It sounded like insane ramblings to the others, who couldn’t understand anything he was saying.

“You’re not making any sense now, Harian. What are you trying to say? Speak Latin.”

“Doctore, what is the problem?” Their Dominus called out loudly, he was on the balcony over the training sands.

“Harian is fevered, Dominus.”

“Don’t waste words! See him to the medicus.”

“Barca, see Harian to the medicus.”

Barca lifted him up easily and strode to the filthy medicus’ rooms.

“Don’t let him touch me with those hands!” Harry begged Barca, tugging on his woven hair.

“Hush now, you’re not well.”

“I need to sleep.”

“You’ll only slip into fever dreams.”

“Don’t let him die.”

“Who? Spartacus? Harian, he’s condemned to the pits. He’ll be fought until he does die.”

“No. He can win. Gave him energy.”

Barca stopped then. “Like when we were ordered to fuck? You played coy, but I saw that you knew. What was it? I felt renewed afterwards, as if I were a boy in my prime again and had never before been injured. Is that what you did with Spartacus? You’ve fucked him?”

“No.” Harry said, for some reason it was important to him to explain that he hadn’t let Spartacus fuck him. “No, can pass through touch, but it’s not…not…couldn’t hold it back during sex. Happened on its own.”

“You can do this through touch?” Barca asked, then he thought hard. “You’ve always had your hand on him. You’ve passed along your own energy to him, too much of it! Are you dying in his place?”

Harry shook his head. “No, too much energy, but he needs it more. I need to rest and it’ll come back slowly.”

“The fever?”

“The sun is too hot. Don’t let him give me medicine, don’t need it, just sleep.”

Barca started walking again and they made it to the medicus.

“What has the fool done now?”

“Don’t call him a fool or you’ll find yourself without tongue!” Barca snapped. “The sun has taken his energy, he needs to sleep.”

“He is fevered.” The medicus said.

“He feels it, but he’s not. It’s the heat of the sun and the hot sand.” Barca insisted.

“Leave him with me.”

Harry was left to cuddle up on an actual bed, not in a bedroll on the floor, and he slept like the dead for a whole day, in a sleep so deep he could have been unconscious.

He woke up slowly, just before the midday meal the next day and he sat up, feeling renewed in himself and so full of energy that he just had to move, so when the medicus was busy in the other room, Harry ran off.

He came out onto the sands as Doctore was calling a halt to the morning training. Barca was stood with Pietros and Harry ran to them both and he jumped onto Pietros’ back, holding him tightly and giggling.

Barca had immediately gone to lash out at him, then his eyes were caught by captivating green and a bright, cheeky smile and his arm lowered automatically as he let out a long sigh.

“Harian, are you better?” Pietros asked.

Harry nodded. “So much better. I just needed to sleep.”

“You are over your fever so quickly?” Doctore came to ask.

Harry grinned. “Yes, Doctore. I’m young and strong. A fever won’t beat me!”

“I’m glad to hear it. Are you fit to resume training after the noon day meal?”

Harry nodded.

“Has the medicus signed you off?”

Harry bit his lip. “Well, ah…he might not actually know that I’ve left yet.”

Harry saw the hint of a smile curl at Doctore’s lip.

“I will see you back to training after the noon day meal then.”

Harry giggled and slipped from Pietros’ back, took his hand and pulled him over to the eating area, catching up on what he’d missed. He automatically looked to where Spartacus was usually sat, chained to the wall, and saw the space empty. He stopped dead, and he was sure that his heart might burst.

“He’s fine.” Barca told him, knowing immediately what he thought. “He saved Dominus’ life last night and has been reinstated as a gladiator.”

Harry breathed easier. “He doesn’t need another _talking_ to then?”

“No.” Barca said. “Keep words for yourself. He’s fine.”

Harry nodded and he sat next to Crixus to eat his porridge, his eyes looking everywhere, his body restless. He couldn’t keep still.

“Has fever addled mind? What are you doing?” Crixus asked him.

“I have too much energy, I need to release it.”

“Well sit still until after we’ve eaten and then I’ll be happy to beat the energy from you.”

Harry nudged Crixus and went up on his knees, they were of a height when he did so. His magic, newly full and unused for twenty-four hours, was almost swelling within him, making him restless and cagey. 

“By the gods, sit still.” Crixus complained. “Barca, reel in your wild boy.”

“Harian, here.” Barca ordered, catching Harry’s attention from where it had wandered around to the other gladiators.

“What?” He asked, putting his attention back on Barca.

“Here.” The man pointed just in front of him and Harry hurried around the table.

“What?” He asked again.

He was pulled down on Barca’s lap and held there as the man finished his food. Every time he tried to move after that, he found a heavy arm clamped tight about his hips, preventing him from moving.

“Barca, I’m not doing any harm.” He complained. “I shouldn’t be punished for doing nothing.”

“You’re so restless, just sit still.”

“Pietros, make him let go.”

Pietros looked at him and chuckled. “You’re bounding all over the place, you need to sit quiet for a bit.”

Harry made an aggravated noise, but he rested back on Barca and took to swinging his legs.

“Why put up with such a boy?” Gnaeus asked from another table. “Let his wrangling to others and go to your good, quiet boy.”

“Fuck off, Gnaeus.” Harry replied readily. “As if you could wrangle anyone, you can’t even control yourself.”

“You only say as such from the protection of Barca’s lap.” Gnaeus spat.

“I wasn’t in Barca’s lap when I rammed your thick head into the palus.” Harry insisted.

Those beady eyes promised pain and retribution, but Gnaeus wouldn’t dare do anything under the watchful eye of Barca.

“Leave Barca to his slave boys.” Rabanus scoffed.

“We’re all slaves here you whinging woman.” Harry snapped.

“No gladiator would ever put out their bodies to be used as whores!”

Harry knew immediately that a line had been crossed when Barca stopped with his spoon halfway to his mouth and stiffened with fury. His spoon clattered back to his bowl and he stood, placing Harry gently to the side of himself, next to Pietros.

He stood with a deadly purpose, those dark eyes furious.

“Do you forget Auctus so quickly?” He demanded. “A man worth more than all of you!” He roared.

“Yet he’s the dead one.” Rabanus spat. “Felled by a man you call friend and brother.”

Even Rhaskos and Gnaeus, who had known Auctus as a brother, looked shocked by Rabanus’ outburst.

Barca was beside himself and he didn’t even make a sound as he launched all that tall, honed power at Rabanus. The attack was so furious that Harry was worried that Barca would actually kill Rabanus with his fists.

“Barca, stop!” Doctore roared. When he was ignored the whip came out to lash at Barca’s back. Harry winced as it landed with a sharp crack. “What is the meaning of this?” He demanded when he finally managed to drag Barca from Rabanus’ unconscious form.

“Doctore, please.” Harry said softly. “Rabanus was speaking ill of the dead.”

“Speaking ill of the…? Auctus.” He sighed heavily.

“The dead do not deserve to be spoken of in such a manner.” Harry insisted. “As if they had never lived or had feelings or stories of their own. It is a terrible disgrace, one that we, as gladiators who face death so willingly and so often, should know better than to commit. Auctus might now be dead, but he was a man living and deserves to be remembered so, by his brothers most of all. He is owed that at the very least.”

“You didn’t even know Auctus.” Donar pointed out, not unkindly.

“It doesn’t matter.” Harry stressed. “I know that he fought and trained at this very ludus, on the very same sands. I know that he bore the very same mark as we all do upon our forearms. He was a brother and he’s always going to be a brother. As will all of you, as much as I fucking hate some of you and love others, we all share this life, we all swore the same oath to the same house. We have all lived here, ate here, trained here and slept here. It doesn’t matter if we die or we are freed. We all shared this same life prior to that and we deserve to be remembered for it.” 

Barca strode to him in the contemplative silence afterwards and he gripped Harry’s hair gently and pulled his head back. It was the first time he had ever kissed Harry’s mouth and he pulled back smiling.

“Thank you.” He said softly.

Harry smiled radiantly back at him. “I don’t know what he looked like or what he was like as a person, but I know that he was a brother, I know he was a hoplomachus, that he was a brave gladiator who accepted his death with dignity. His name was Auctus, and he will be remembered.”

Barca sat back down, right between Harry and Pietros, and he hugged them both tight to his chest. He made an odd noise and Harry knew that he was remembering Auctus, perhaps he had even seen his lover die before him, he knew that Barca liked to watch the games. If that was the case then it was no wonder that Barca never mentioned him.

Harry turned more into Barca and petted him gently, snuggling in. Pietros did the same and they shared a knowing look with one another. They both knew that currently Barca was lost in thought and needed to hold them, that he was currently hurting under his thoughts of Auctus. Harry wished that he’d gotten the chance to meet Auctus, someone who was so beloved by Barca that he would not stand anyone speaking ill of him. He sighed and he sent a small burst of magic into Barca, making it warm and comforting. Barca squeezed him tightly and looked at him.

“Don’t waste energy on me.” He said sternly.

“It’s not a waste.” Harry said quietly. “I’m not draining myself into you like I did with Spartacus, it’s just comfort. The same as before, it’s just a small touch. With Spartacus it took a lot to keep that man standing, healing him.”

“Is this what you were taught to do from the knee?”

Harry nodded. “First came instruction on how to do it, I was very, very young when it was started. It got serious when I was eleven and we were told how to use it to our advantage. To use it with purpose.”

Barca sighed and he turned and kissed Pietros. “The gods help me, I love you both.”

Harry and Pietros shared a look. Harry worried that Pietros would now dislike him, he had been threatened by a dead man, how would he feel with a living person taking the affection of his lover?

Harry found Pietros smiling at him, those dark eyes brilliant and bright.

“I told you that you would come to love him too.” Pietros said, looking at Harry but talking to Barca.

“Pietros…you?” Harry asked.

The young man smiled. “Almost as soon as I saw you.”

Harry swallowed. “Now you too?” He directed at Barca, who laughed.

“Almost as soon as I saw you.” Barca told him. “The desire and lust was instant, yet easily controlled with Pietros, but it was after we were ordered to fuck that I thought of you as something more. Seeing you so frightened was a terrible feeling. I would have done anything in that moment to make you less afraid.”

“You did.” Harry assured him. “It was at that time that I stopped seeing you as a hateful bully and more as a man. I really appreciated that you were gentle with me.”

“I’m glad he was gentle.” Pietros said. “He was gentle with me at first too, then I got used to him.”

Harry reached out and laced his fingers through Pietros’ and he smiled, ducking his head.

“I don’t want to hurt either of you.”

“It is alright if you don’t feel the same way.” Barca explained. “You are always going to be a brother.”

“It’s not that. I’m too young.” He said sadly. “I can’t withstand this life, it’s too harsh. I don’t want to bond with you both then leave you when I inevitably die. One day soon I’m going to meet my match in the arena, and I’m sure it’ll be soon. That isn’t fair on you both.”

“It is the life we have.” Barca said. “It could easily be me, as it was Auctus. You have done well thus far, better than that you have proven your nerve and your worth. You are no coward. None of us chose this life, we have all been enslaved. Let us try and make the most of it. Pietros and I love you, now do you love us back?”

Harry looked away, over to the other gladiators chatting and laughing and finishing off their midday meals.

“You know that I do.” Harry said softly.

Barca squeezed him tight and Harry tipped his head backwards. He got another kiss to the mouth. 

“So much for not wanting sex with anyone.” Barca teased.

Harry smiled. “I don’t think about it.” Harry said. “I’m very young, Barca. It’s not a thought that takes over my mind. I’m truly still a boy, but I’ve been forced into a man’s role and I’m just making of it what I can. I don’t want to die, but I’m resigned to the fact that I’m going to.”

“How much coin did you win for your first bout?”

Harry frowned at the rapid change of topic. “Five hundred denarii.” Harry whispered, so only Barca and Pietros could hear him.

Barca’s eyes widened in shock.

“My odds were terrible.” Harry smiled. “I was expected to be butchered, remember? My second fight was not as high, but I still got another two hundred denarii.”

“You bet on the Vulcanalia fight too?”

Harry nodded. “Yes. Dominus believes that it is a superstition now and he almost demands that I place a coin on myself for luck.”

“You told me where to find your coin.” Pietros said sadly.

“He did?” Barca asked.

“I did.” Harry smiled. “If I was to die, there is no one else in the ludus I would want that coin to go to other than to you and Pietros.”

“You already have seven hundred denarii.” Barca said. “This is almost double the amount I have saved over the last few months.”

“You’re expected to win and don’t bet on yourself.” Harry pointed out.

“I am still waiting on coin from Ashur.” Barca hissed.

“Don’t go through him, go through Doctore. He gets my bets for me, despite not betting himself.”

Harry, having been reminded of Barca’s problem with Ashur, steeled himself to getting that coin for his new…lovers? Could they even be called lovers? He didn’t know, but he knew that he loved them both. He would get Barca’s coin for him.

“To the sands!”

Doctore’s voice made him jump and Barca laughed at him. Pietros stole his first kiss from him and Harry smiled as the young man went to hand out wooden swords and shields. Barca kissed him too, for a third time, and Harry hopped out onto the sands, getting his wooden sword and small, hoplomachus shield.

“Harian, pair with Crixus.”

Harry groaned and turned to face the murmillo. He dropped into his pose and readied himself for Crixus’ attack.

“Are you ready, tiny?” Crixus asked with a grin.

“Come at me, Crixus! Let’s see what you’ve got.”

Harry held his own well, but truly, Crixus was the champion of Capua for a reason and very soon, with his energy waning, he started picking himself up from the sand more often, determinedly standing and trying again.

“I will fuck you up, Crixus!” He roared as one hit really hurt and Harry dropped to his knees and swung right at Crixus’ body, too late he realised that his sword was going to hit his balls. The man dropped like a stone. “I think I win this one.” He giggled. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to hit your bits. I’m just a little shorter than you. I was aiming for your belly.”

“Crixus, are you injured?” Doctore asked as he came over, seeing Crixus flopping around on the sand and Harry looking sheepish.

“I caught his balls, Doctore.” Harry admitted.

“Caught them?” Crixus roared. “That was a full fucking swing!”

“Sorry…is, is everything still working?” He asked unsurely.

“They fucking better be or I will string you from the rafters!”

“What did you do?” Barca asked him, downing Hamilcar and looking over at the commotion.

“I…accidentally smashed his bits.” Harry winced. “I’m sure he’ll be fine. Won’t he?”

Barca laughed. “He’ll be fine. Try not to aim for the cock and balls of your brothers, fine in the arena, but not in training.”

Harry nodded. “Okay. I didn’t mean to hit him there.” He insisted. “I’m just really short.”

Barca laughed again and gave him a push before turning back to Hamilcar.

“Are you okay?” Harry nervously asked Crixus.

“I’m going to fuck you over.”

Crixus gingerly got to his feet and Harry sighed, readying himself for serious pain.

“Don’t kill him, Crixus.” Doctore warned.

“I’ll be sure to stop short of killing him, Doctore.” The man rasped, glaring hatefully at Harry.

“I said I was sorry!” Harry tried.

Crixus launched at him and Harry dodged as best as he could. He took blows on the shield, parried with his sword, and he danced with Crixus, taking the occasional blow to his body. One swipe opened a cut on his shoulder and he hissed as the shallow wound smarted.

Harry countered and he feinted left, feinted right to confuse Crixus and then spun left again to prod him with the wooden sword.

“That was fatal.” Harry pointed out.

“You’re getting better.” Crixus panted. “You threw me right off with the double feint.”

“Can you teach me the jumping slash attack you do?” Harry asked eagerly.

“This one?” Crixus asked, before he did the very move, Harry falling to the sand and rolling forward to avoid having his head taken off.

“Yes! That one.” Harry nodded.

“How high can you actually jump without the use of a wall?”

Harry showed him and Crixus laughed.

“Hey! You have to take into account the height from floor ratio!” Harry pouted. “That was high for me!”

“Perhaps you’d be better with low attacks.” Crixus told him, taking in deep breaths to regain his wind. “You’re made more for taking out legs and knees.”

Harry frowned. “I know. I’ll do that too. But I don’t want to become known for taking out the legs. That way every opponent will come to know where I’ll be aiming. I want to be able to attack the head and chest too, so I have a bit of diversity to my attacks instead of just going for the legs.”

Crixus looked thoughtful. “Clever.” He said. “Come here then.”

Harry hurried to Crixus’ side and he followed the movement of the other body, using just a brush of magic to feel which muscles were moving and doing what. He followed Crixus’ move and he looked to Crixus with wide, pleading eyes for feedback.

“Not bad.” He said. “Come here, do it again, swing through the shoulders while you’re in the air, it gives you more balance.”

“What are you two doing?” Doctore asked, sounding exasperated and not at all surprised any more.

“Crixus is teaching me how to aim for the head, Doctore. Not just the legs. I want to be able to attack any part of the body without thought if attacking the legs is denied from me.”

Harry actually got to witness the man smiling.

“Carry on.” He said and moved on himself.

Harry giggled and turned to Crixus with a grin. “Do I call you Doctore now too?” He asked.

“I _am_ your better.” Crixus grinned.

Harry chuckled. “Show me again.”

He spent the next few hours learning from Crixus how to take off someone’s head or where to stab through the chest. In return he showed Crixus how to jump at a wall and take off with one foot.

“Of course it should be a last resort.” Harry said seriously as he watched Crixus run at the wall and kick off from it with one leg, the other already turned at the hips to balance his landing, as Harry had shown him. “I had no idea if my opponent had his sword up…would be a shame to do this to show off and get skewered for it when you jump on your opponent’s sword.”

Crixus laughed and clapped his shoulder. “Most men run with their sword at their side. Especially if they have heavy armour and shield, it takes too much energy to run with the sword up too.”

Harry nodded, trying to put it from his mind, he had survived, he was fine. It didn’t matter now about where the sword had been, he had avoided it when he’d taken down that murmillo. He needed to put it behind him now and move on. There would be other fights soon enough and he would have to focus on those, not on what could have happened in past fights that he had actually managed to miraculously survive.

“Enough, go and get your evening meal.” Doctore yelled and Harry smiled at Crixus before running over to Pietros and handing in his sword and little shield. He gave the other boy a kiss which made Pietros smile before he went to get a bowl of porridge.

Barca sat beside him and Harry threw a leg over Barca’s lap. Pietros joined them as soon as he had finished locking away the weapons and Harry reached out to touch him before going back to eating. Harry ate as if starved. He’d come a long way from only being able to stomach a few measly spoonfuls.

“Are you well?” Barca asked him, looking on in slight concern.

Harry nodded. “Yes, I’m just recovering my energy levels.” He said with a pointed look. “Some more sleep and I’ll be fine.”

Barca nodded, taking him at his word, and Harry stretched his back, smiling at the satisfying crack, before he cuddled into Barca’s side.

“That boy is making you soft.” Crixus scoffed as Barca wrapped an arm around him and started playing with his hair.

“I can still beat your arse.” Barca grinned.

Harry rolled his eyes and looked around as the meal came to an end and the bowls and spoons were taken to be cleaned and men got out dice and knuckle bones to play and gamble with one another now that their free time had started.

None of them were recruits anymore, so none of them were hurried to their cell and everything was calm and relaxed.

“Come and meet the birds.” Pietros told him excitedly. “You haven’t seen them yet, I want to introduce you.”

Harry allowed himself to be pulled up and over the training sands by Pietros and into Barca’s cell. It was the same size as his own cell, but Barca had it to himself, he wasn’t sharing with three other men, just Pietros.

Pietros lit candles and then showed him the wooden cages filled with pigeons.

Harry was gentle and careful as he was handed the tamed birds, knowing that they were once Auctus’ and that Barca prized them because of it.

“They’re so soft.” Harry said with a smile.

“This one’s my favourite.” Pietros said, taking one particular pigeon out of its cage and handing it over to him.

Harry cradled it and listened to it coo softly, he smiled happily as he stroked its feathers.

“Hold it tight, Barca will want to see it.”

Harry held the bird carefully, holding down its wings. It was almost like holding Hedwig and he fought back tears at the thought of her. He nuzzled the bird, but unlike Hedwig, it didn’t nuzzle back or groom him with its beak.

Barca was sat on the floor waiting, leaning back against the wall and Pietros sat next to him. Harry took the other side and handed the pigeon over with a smile.

“You like birds?” Barca asked.

“I had an owl for a pet once.” He said. “I…I had to leave her when I was taken as a slave.”

Barca smiled at him and held the bird out to him. Harry nuzzled it again, using a delicate finger to gently stroke the tiny head. The bird cooed and he smiled.

They sat there in near silence as Barca groomed the bird with his fingers, tugging out loose feathers and feeding it some of the bread he’d saved from dinner. It was nice and peaceful…at least until Ashur showed up.

“Barca, you’ve been summoned.” He said loudly with a grin that Harry didn’t trust. He had gained the attention of everyone near them.

“Are there any more virgin boys hiding around the ludus that need Barca’s attentions?” Harry joked.

Barca handed the pigeon off to Pietros and ruffled Harry’s hair with a smirk as their brothers laughed happily. He strode off towards the villa and Harry got a thought. He stood up.

“I’ll be back in a moment, Pietros.”

“Where are you going?” He asked worriedly.

“Don’t fret.” Harry smiled. “There’s just something I need to do. Don’t go anywhere alone.” He warned remembering the plot to rape them, though he believed the threat of that to have passed it was always better to be safe than sorry.

Harry followed after Ashur into the deserted ludus…all their brothers were outside now that there were no new recruits. Harry readied his magic and he grabbed Ashur and swung him into a wall, holding him with a vice grip around his throat.

“We’re going to have a little talk, Ashur.” He said pleasantly.

“About what, you little fuck?” Asher growled, trying to get away from him, but Harry had stuck his back to the wall with magic.

“The coin you owe Barca. You’ll give it to him tomorrow.” Harry said easily.

Ashur laughed. “Why should I?”

“Because I will hurt you if you don’t.” Harry grinned himself.

“You are a mere boy, I am a gladiator, you…”

“Did you miss the part where I have already won more victories than you in the arena?” Harry demanded. “Without getting hurt, I’ll add.” He sneered then. “I can hurt you in ways that no one would even believe. How do you think I have won without getting a scratch? I am not human, Ashur.”

Ashur laughed then, a deep belly laugh, but Harry turned his eyes red with magic, letting his lightning bolt scar come though. Ashur’s laugh stopped on a squeak.

Harry lifted his fringe and showed the scar, the sign of Jupiter himself, on his forehead.

“You’ll do as you’re told.” Harry said, sending a very painful jolt through Ashur that caught the man’s breath in his throat and made his eyes widen. “I can kill you like this…with not even a sword in sight. When examined, it will be seen that you have just dropped dead with no mark to indicate anyone else has been near you. I would not even be suspected, no one will be.”

Harry used another burst of magic to stop Ashur’s breathing, making him feel like there were bands of iron tight about his neck…bands that would not even leave a mark for him to show off.

“You’ll have Barca’s coin tomorrow, you will give it to him tomorrow, or you’d best hope that we never get another opportunity for a nice little talk like this ever again…because it’ll be your last.” Harry snarled, adding in a bit of a Parseltongue for flair as he made sure that Ashur could see the burning red eyes. Then he pulled it all back, took away the magic when Ashur’s face went from purple to a bluish colour. The man sunk down to the floor and heaved in great breaths of air, staring at him in horror. Harry smiled at him sweetly, green eyed and innocent little boy once again. “Until tomorrow, Ashur.” He said brightly, his voice once again high and boyish.

Harry left him there, in a heap on the floor, and he happily went back out to Pietros. He sat next to him and smiled.

“Did you do what you needed?” Pietros asked.

Harry grinned. “Oh yes. I’d say that it was a success.”

Harry stayed with Pietros all through their free time and Barca didn’t return.

“He is sometimes out all night with Dominus.” Pietros said, looking nervously to his empty cell.

“I could stay with you if you wanted, or you could come with me to my cell? Donar is a big bear, but he’s friendly enough.”

“Would you?” Pietros asked, a terrified boy peeking through.

Harry smiled. Pietros was a slave boy, he fetched things that people wanted, he sharpened the weapons, buffed their armour, oiled their leathers, he was no fighter. He couldn’t fight off anyone, let alone men who were twice the size and weight of him who were trained gladiators. At least Harry was a gladiator, he could at least help a bit and if the worst came to the worst, he’d attack with magic.

“Of course I would, Pietros. Come on.”

They chose to stay in Barca’s cell, the bed was slightly bigger than the other gladiators’ (or at least those who actually got beds), as requested by Barca for his victories in the arena, and it could fit the both of them, and Barca too if they all squashed up tight, but while he wasn’t there, it was a rather large space for them both to share.

Pietros was excited to have him in the bed and he talked endlessly about this or that, where he’d come from, which was apparently Egypt, and about the things he could remember seeing and how much he loved Barca, and him, and the birds. He was like an excited little boy and Harry loved the touch of innocence to him.

Eventually sleep drew for them both and they curled up together, the cooing and soft rustling of feathers in their ears. Barca came back in the early hours of the morning, slipping into his cell, bone tired, to find his bed taken up by his two boys. He smiled at them both as he slipped off his cloak, tunic and subligaria and he pushed both his boys over in the bed, squashing them up together.

He slipped into the bed and under his blanket, rolling onto his side to better hold them both. He knew what must have happened, as Pietros had been afraid to be on his own since the threat of the rape, and he was grateful that at least Harian had seen Pietros safe this night, as Pietros was the one up against the wall and the smaller Harian in front of him. Now he slept closest to the door, with Harian against his body and his arm wrapped around Pietros’ shoulder. It was a tight fit, but he didn’t care as he held both boys close, in the cell that he had once shared with Auctus.

He smiled at the thought of his lover, Auctus would have liked Harian, if only because the little shit never, ever gave up and took everything that everyone threw at him, giving back as good as he got. Harian would have won Auctus around with his stubbornness and determination, his inherently defiant nature that burned more brightly in the arena as he faced off against men he was expected to lose against, to die against. Auctus would have admired that, he knew.

Pietros would have been cherished, as one of the birds. Auctus had liked gentle, delicate things. It was that reason that they had been able to share such a love in such a place. With Auctus, he’d been able to go back on his word of his childhood, when he had given up caring for birds to forge himself into a warrior after his mother’s murder. When he’d seen that Auctus, a tall, strong, respected gladiator and warrior, was caring so gently for pet pigeons, it had given him a small spark to work with.

They’d brought out the best and worst in one another. They could be kind and gentle to the birds, feeding and cleaning them. They could be loving and passionate with one another, or rough and competitive. Some of their best sex had started as playful fights that had left them with bruises, bumps and scrapes. Then they could both be downright cruel and unrelenting to others. They had taken joy and pleasure in humiliating the new recruits, beating them down, killing them on occasion, starving them by continually tainting their food with piss and they’d both found it hilariously funny. They would each encourage the other, getting worse and worse and enjoying every moment of it. Without Auctus to laugh with, Barca had all but stopped with such things. He still ridiculed the new recruits with Crixus, he would knock the bowls from their hands and watch them eat from the floor, but without Auctus, it didn’t seem so funny. They had laughed for hours after one of their ideas was seen to fruition, where the new recruits would eat piss tainted porridge or would be beaten around by them on the training sands. Now, without Auctus, it all seemed rather routine and ritual more than a way to have fun. He wished that Auctus was still around, perhaps sharing Pietros could have tempered their cruelty a little, at least to the point where several of every new batch of recruits wouldn’t die before they even reached the test of brotherhood.

Barca smiled to himself as he felt sleep tugging at his mind. He touched Harian and Pietros and thought that he would have loved to share them both with Auctus. Only ever with Auctus.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ X

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Another week, another chapter, and things are going to get interesting now that Spartacus and Barca know about Harry’s little ability. It won’t be long before it starts getting around the Ludus, especially with his little trick with Ashur. Poor Harry though, he’s only fourteen, he hasn’t seen the danger of this getting out, or the consequences of his little power play. He will come to realise it though, when it all backfires on him, but that’s later in the fic.
> 
> You all really liked that Harry chose food as his reward, to get his new brothers on side. Of course he was limited in what he could actually ask for, and him being from the modern time, to suddenly living on a gladiator’s diet of barley porridge mixed with bone ash (the latter of which Harry doesn’t know about yet), a piece of hard bread, and plain water, he’s definitely missing fruit and vegetables, and his favourite treacle tart, so food was the obvious choice for him in the end.  
> I hope that you’ve all enjoyed this chapter, thank you so much for supporting me and this fic, and if you’d like you can join me on Facebook, I’m there under the name Star Mass. Until next week, lovelies,
> 
> StarLight Massacre. X


	6. Familia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last Time
> 
> Barca still ridiculed the new recruits with Crixus, he would knock the bowls from their hands and watch them eat from the floor, but without Auctus, it didn’t seem so funny. They had laughed for hours after one of their ideas was seen to fruition, where the new recruits would eat piss tainted porridge or would be beaten around by them on the training sands. Now, without Auctus, it all seemed rather routine and ritual more than a way to have fun. He wished that Auctus was still around, perhaps sharing Pietros could have tempered their cruelty a little, at least to the point where several of every new batch of recruits wouldn’t die before they even reached the test of brotherhood.
> 
> Barca smiled to himself as he felt sleep tugging at his mind. He touched Harian and Pietros and thought that he would have loved to share them both with Auctus. Only ever with Auctus.

Chapter Six - Familia

Their training for the day had ended, their last meal had been eaten, and they were all in their free time. Harry was sitting beside Donar, supposedly learning how to play dice, but he watched with a cruel smile as Ashur limped heavily towards Barca instead, a heavy purse of coin in his hand. Harry didn’t really care how he’d gotten the money, or if he’d borrowed more than his means. All he cared about was that that was Barca’s money and now it had been paid back.

Ashur gave him a look and he couldn’t contain the shudder as they locked eyes and Harry smiled sweetly at him. Barca and Crixus, who he’d been stood with, both looked at him and his cruel grin. He walked over to them nice and steadily. 

“Gratitude, for your cooperation, Ashur. I hope we don’t have to do business again.” He purred softly.

“No, I would think not.” Ashur replied hatefully, but he couldn’t meet Harry’s eye.

He limped off heavily, his crippled leg seeming to be much more pronounced today. Harry snickered.

“Alright, what did you do?” Crixus demanded of him.

“What? I said that I could be very persuasive when I wanted to be.” Harry grinned, the cruel smile slashing his soft mouth. “It’s finding the right method to use with each person that will give the best results. Is it all there, Barca?”

Barca, who was counting the coins and looking for forgeries or shaved coins, nodded with his own smirk.

“It looks to be. Gratitude, Harian. How did you manage to wrest this much coin from him?”

“I have no idea where he got it from or who he got it from as long as you have your owed coin. I do know that I spoke to him yesterday and told him to give it to you today or else we’d be having another talk…he really didn’t want that other talk.” Harry grinned. “Am I that horrible to speak with?” He asked faux innocently.

Barca and Crixus both laughed.

“With that look on your face, yes.” Crixus told him. “I would not blame him for doing as you asked and running with tail between legs afterwards.”

“I told you I’d get that coin for you.” Harry said happily. “Don’t bet with the snake again. I’m sure I could squeeze more coin from him, but I’m sure he’s just made himself destitute to get that coin together for you overnight. I wonder if he’s limping so badly because he rented out his body for the night.”

That set both men off again and he got a kiss from Barca. “Gratitude.” He said again, softly, playing with Harry’s hair.

“Oh, believe me, Barca. It was my pleasure.” He grinned again.

Barca collected up the coins and put them back in the purse before he went to his cell, presumably to hide it with the rest of his coin. Pietros was inside tending the birds, they probably wouldn’t be out for a while. Harry grinned and went back to sitting with Donar. True to his word, he’d gotten to know the other man well enough to call him a friend.

“Harian, come, sit.” Donar encouraged. He was in the process of teaching Harry how to play dice and how to play knucklebones.

Harry watched happily as a spectator while Donar played with Fulco, Pollux, Hamilcar and Rhaskos. Varro was just watching too, he had sold himself into slavery to pay off his gambling debts, but he still liked watching.

Harry happily whiled away an hour like this, laughing and joking with his brothers, but all too soon he started getting sleepy.

“I’m off to sleep.” He declared, standing up and clapping Donar on the shoulder.

“You cannot leave! You are my lucky talisman! You keep Fortuna hanging over me.” Donar complained.

Harry laughed. “I am still but a boy, Donar. I need my sleep. Not to be playing dice all night with you old men.”

“I am twenty-eight! Who are you calling old?” Donar laughed.

Harry grinned. “I have just turned fourteen, you are exactly twice my age, which makes you old!” Harry teased.

He got a swat to the bum for that, like a naughty boy and he giggled before making his way to his cell. He smiled softly and settled himself down. He sighed to himself and slipped into his bedroll, lying back and thinking. He was coming to like these men, but he still wanted to go home…a home that wasn’t even built yet.

He wondered what his friends were doing, if they even had a lead on how to help him, if they knew what had happened to him in the first place. He knew that the time turner created doubles of the person using it, did that same count for if it exploded on him? Perhaps he was still at Hogwarts, and only this part of him was in ancient Rome. If that was the case then there would be no reason for them to even try to bring him back. He swallowed and tried not to panic.

He wondered, not for the first time, that if he died here, in the Roman Republic, would that wipe out his life back at Hogwarts, or would it not actually affect him, because he was born in nineteen-eighty and wasn’t actually supposed to be alive here at this time? He just didn’t know. He sighed, there was not much point in thinking on it, he didn’t know the answers and he was only winding himself up. He had no clue how time turners actually worked or how the one he’d touched had been broken in the first place, or what it meant that the sand had gotten into his wound. He didn’t know if he was running around as normal back at Hogwarts as if nothing had ever happened, if anyone even knew or suspected what had happened to him or if he was ever going to get back to where he belonged, or even if it was actually possible. He needed to make the most of it here, because if he couldn’t get back, then this was the only life that he was going to get to live.

He frowned to himself and he wriggled under his blanket, touching his winnings with his toes. He had quite a bit now and he was pleased with himself. He would try to win some more, but he hated the fighting, he hated the arena, and it was his fervent wish that he didn’t ever go back there, as futile as those thoughts were. He would be fought again, perhaps as quickly as in the next round of fighting, which the others seemed to believe would be soon. Harry hoped not, the Vulcanalia was still very fresh in his mind, and he had barely survived it. The fear of him skewering himself on that sword was still so powerful that it made his breath hitch, and he swallowed around a dry mouth. He tried to push it from his mind and go to sleep. He needed the rest, and he needed the energy of a full night of sleep.

Harry did actually manage to drop off, and he was asleep before anyone came back into the cell. He did stir once and he saw Donar stripping off his subligaria, standing bollock naked before him, stretching with a groan before he got into his own bedroll, lying in front of him. Harry went back to sleep easily, he didn’t remember the next morning that he’d even woken up…or that he’d seen Donar in all his naked glory.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ X

Things were rather boring and had become a stale routine, they trained, they ate, they slept. Harry spent his free time between Donar, Barca, Pietros, Crixus, Spartacus and Varro. They were his favourites in this ludus, but things were calm and boring, the highlight of the week had been when Crixus and Spartacus had started on one another yet again, things between them devolving into a wrestling match across the sand, and Doctore had had to break them up.

Harry worked mostly on his endurance and his stamina, pushing himself just a little harder than the day before, training for ten minutes with the palus while the others were getting their meals, or sometimes even having a mock match with Spartacus, who had taken his words to heart and had upped his training and sometimes chose to stay with him on the sands while their brothers ate.

This was a highlight for their brothers, who watched them in their fights, yelling out encouragement and derision in equal measure as they watched them while eating.

“Move your feet, tiny!” Harry heard Crixus call out.

Harry hated hearing this ‘criticism’ as he preferred to move from the hips. According to Barca this was a hoplomachi trait, who moved from the hips to use the seven foot spear to better advantage.

Harry feinted left, but Spartacus saw through him and leapt forward at him, Harry had to throw himself backwards to avoid him, landing on the sand in a crouch and quickly, before Spartacus could take advantage of his vulnerable state, he rolled forward between the splayed legs. He swung his sword to the side of him before he even had his feet and as a result his wooden sword clunked heavily into Spartacus’ shin and Harry swiped him from his feet before surging to his own and claiming victory to the raucous cheering of their brothers and a head shake from their observing Doctore.

Spartacus laughed and showed him two fingers and Harry helped him from the sand, clapping his back with a grin.

“You are becoming formidable.” Spartacus told him.

“I take bits and pieces from all of you and cobble them together to suit my needs, that’s why I can’t be classed like the rest of you.”

“I thought it was because you couldn’t handle the weight of heavy armour, nor the length of a spear or trident.” Donar grinned.

“That too!” Harry laughed as he got his own bowl of porridge and hunk of bread, and hopped up on the bench next to Crixus.

“You need to move more!” Crixus told him.

“I can’t!” Harry denied between spoonfuls of porridge. “If I move too much I get tired and then I can’t dodge!”

“I thought you were working on your stamina?”

“I am, but it’s going to take time. I can last a little longer with each new day, but I’m not ready to start running around the sands. It’ll take a while yet.”

“Harian, you’ve been summoned.” Doctore told him as a slave girl from the villa hovered beside him.

Harry’s stomach turned to ice and his throat to sand. He could barely swallow what was in his mouth and he had to wash it down with water. He gave his half full bowl of porridge to Barca and stood up nervously.

He was thinking that this was going to be for an honoured guest of house Batiatus to abuse him, to rape him, and he comforted himself by drawing his magic in tighter, closer. If he needed to he would force the person to sleep, try to manipulate their memories to make them think they’d raped him, while saving himself that sort of pain, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to do it, but he would try. He’d do everything he could to see himself safe.

He climbed the stairs, each one feeling like a mountain, as he followed the woman in front of him. His legs felt jellied, like they shouldn’t be able to hold him upright, and his heart was racing. He was wrong-footed, and confused, when he arrived at the villa and it was only his Dominus awaiting him.

“Harian, come here.”

Harry stood still and calm in front of his Dominus, the opposite of his hammering heart and his racing thoughts. 

“Lift your hair for me, Harian.” The man said and Harry could have slumped in complete, utter relief…this wasn’t about Romans wanting to use him as a pretty pet, or for sex, this was about Ashur and his laughable attempt to get revenge.

“Dominus?” He asked, inflecting just enough confusion to deflect attention while he used his magic to make sure that his scar was fully hidden.

“I have heard rumour that you have a peculiar scar upon your forehead, Harian. Lift your hair.” He was ordered.

Harry played his part well, looking innocently puzzled and confused as he lifted his hair and showed his smooth forehead. Batiatus approached him and inspected his forehead, even dipping a linen cloth into a bowl of water and rubbing all over his forehead.

“I don’t know who told you these rumours, Dominus, but I assure you that they are not true. I have taken no lasting damage in training or any in the arena and I came to you with no scars. The only lasting mark upon me at this time is this one.” He played things up by showing his mark of brotherhood, lifting his arm to his mouth and kissing the brand.

“Truly. I had thought at the time that the rumour came from a man’s drunken nightmares, but I thought to look, just in case it was the mark of a fugitivus. Your hair does always cover your head, after all.”

“I understand, Dominus.” Harry smiled. “You needed to be sure.”

“Indeed. Now, how are you? I have been observing you from the balcony and you are improving vastly.”

Harry nodded. “I am, Dominus. I am learning so much from my brothers, and I am learning quickly.”

“I am glad to hear of such. You have impressed all those around you in your short time with us. I would see you continue. Have you picked up any injuries?”

“No, Dominus. Crixus opened a small cut on my shoulder, but as you can see it is scabbed over and it will heal very soon.” Harry answered, placing a hand over the scabbed line. “It’s not going to scar.”

“Wonderful, well, you get back now. Train hard, Harian.”

“Yes, Dominus.” He said sweetly.

He walked calmly back to the stairs that led to the cellar and then got the guard to let him through the gate into the ludus. He hurried back to his brothers and sat back down. He hadn’t been gone for fifteen minutes and they were still in their free time.

“That was too quick for a decent fuck.” Gnaeus commented.

“A good thing that I wasn’t fucking then.” Harry said dryly. “There was a rumour that I had a scar on my forehead that I was covering with my hair. I have no idea where such a thing started, but it’s not true. Dominus worried that it might have been a fugitive brand so he checked.”

Harry lifted his long, messy fringe to show them all his nice, smooth forehead.

“I am not a fugitivus, so no more rumours.” He said sternly.

“Are you well?” Barca asked.

Harry nodded. “I’m well, just annoyed that my meal was interrupted because someone is gossiping shit about me like old women at a fountain. Where did such a thing even start? I’ve never had any injury to my forehead before. The closest was when Hamilcar tried to take my head off, but he hit the side of my head, not the front.”

“Your hair always covers your forehead, it probably started as a joke that you wore your hair so long to cover up a mark you didn’t want others to see. That could have been overheard and then passed on as you actually having a mark on your head that you wanted to hide.” Barca scoffed. “I had not heard this rumour.”

“I hadn’t.” Crixus said and Pietros just shook his head.

“Bloody women.” Harry hissed, looking around at the others in a show of distrust, but he knew exactly where the ‘rumour’ had come from. It had come straight from the snake’s mouth. Ashur had tried to get revenge. Now that he had tried once and failed, Harry would be aware of other attempts in the future. Perhaps Ashur did need that second talking to after all.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ X

He got the chance to talk to Ashur two days later and he took huge pride in the uncontained fear he could see in those eyes.

“So I hear that you’ve been telling tales to Dominus about me. Such a thing could end very badly for you. I still owe you for telling Dominus about my virginity.”

“I did not…”

“Don’t lie to me.” Harry said. “I can smell lies like other men smell shit. You’ll end up very dead if you carry on, Ashur. This is two strikes against you, as I don’t count the disagreement with Barca as that was resolved rather quickly. This is two strikes against me, Ashur. A third will see you dead, am I clear?” He made his eyes flash brilliant red and he smiled with all his teeth.

“What are you?” Ashur demanded of him.

Harry chuckled darkly. “That, is none of your business.” He said simply. “If you try and tell tales to the Dominus again, they will be finding your body stuffed in a corner somewhere.”

Harry gave him a sharper, longer shock this time around and he watched the pain eat up Ashur before he stopped it suddenly, which was almost a pain in itself.

“I can kill you so easily, Ashur, and I can make it look like an accident. I can make it so painful you will try to tear off your own skin before I mercifully grant you death.”

“Why don’t you do so in the arena?” Ashur asked him.

“In front of all those people?” Harry laughed. “How simple minded do you think me? But I do use certain things to my advantage. Why do you think I get my arse handed to me in training but win so easily with not a single hit to my body in the arena?” He laughed softly. “Do not cross me again, Ashur. Our third talk is not going to be even half as pleasant as our first two.”

Harry turned and walked back out into the bright sunlight and he stretched happily. He went and sat on Barca, kissing him innocently. Barca wrapped a big arm around him and squeezed.

“Is Pietros with the birds?”

“He is.” Barca replied. “Where have you been?”

“I had to have another little talk with Ashur.” He said with a snarl. “Filthy snake that he is. I’ve told him he will not like it if I have to break words with him for a third time.”

“Are you injured?”

“From that cripple? Don’t insult me.” Harry scoffed.

Crixus laughed. “Your boy has the right of things, Barca. As if that lame legged snake could take on the baby of house Batiatus.”

Harry grinned. “At least that title is better than the whore of house Batiatus. I’ve never been a whore and Barca is still the only one I’ve ever let fuck me and even then that was on Dominus’ orders, otherwise he wouldn’t have gotten close.”

“Is that so?” Barca asked, smirking at him.

“Yes.” Harry giggled, even as Barca’s hands started wandering and his mouth nuzzled into his neck. “Barca, stop it.”

“Why?”

“It tickles.”

That set Crixus off laughing and the broad, muscly man got up. “I’ll leave you to your impossible task of trying to bed him then.” He said before turning and leaving.

“Are you…are there bets taking place about how soon you can fuck me again?” He demanded angrily.

Barca actually pulled back in surprise. “Of course not. I wouldn’t bet on such a thing.”

“But they would?” He demanded looking over at their brothers.

“If they have I haven’t heard of such. Harian, we bet on fights, on victors or losers, not on trifle matters such as this.”

“It’s not a trifle matter to me.” Harry said.

Barca used a big hand to cup his chin, and turned Harry’s head to kiss him properly. “I know, but to them it would be. They don’t understand such matters.”

“That I can believe.” He chuckled.

Barca went back to nuzzling his neck and Harry smiled.

“Why do you do that?” He asked.

“I like touching your skin.” Barca told him. “You’re so soft and smooth.”

“You really do like boys, don’t you?” Harry said with a smile.

“Truly I just like cock and arse.” Barca laughed. “Smooth, soft boy or hard, hairy man, it doesn’t matter as long as he has a cock I can play with and an arse I can ram.”

“Nice, Barca. Such a smooth talker. I’m surprised that everyone isn’t lining up for you.” Harry giggled.

“I wouldn’t treat those I love in such a callous manner.” Barca insisted. “You and Pietros are special, even Auctus and I had our gentle moments. Love is different.”

Harry smiled and cuddled in closer. “I’m sorry that you lost someone you loved.”

“It wasn’t even the first time.” Barca said after a minute’s pause in which Harry thought the subject would be changed. “I had a lover who came from friendship in childhood, Cyprian. He died too.”

“Oh, Barca. I’m so sorry.” Harry said genuinely, kissing his cheek.

“Dwelling on the past drains a man. I would not have it so.” Barca insisted. “I lost Cyprian and found Auctus. I lost Auctus and found Pietros. Now we both have you as well.”

“I can’t promise that I won’t die on you too, but at least Pietros isn’t in the same danger.”

“If I fall in the arena…”

“Barca.” Harry interrupted.

“No. Listen to me. If I fall in the arena, Pietros knows where my coin is, I want you to both buy your freedom. I don’t want you in this place if I am not here to look over you both.”

“Barca, I am newly bought. Even if I had the coin, I haven’t done anything to warrant buying my freedom.” Harry said softly. “I won’t be allowed.”

“Try.” Barca insisted.

Harry didn’t argue, he just nodded in agreement, despite knowing that it was futile, there was no way he’d be able to buy his freedom yet, even if he had ten thousand Denarii. “Don’t die, Barca.” He added.

Barca laughed. “If I can help it, I won’t, but my life is in the hands of the gods.”

“Do you think Cyprian and Auctus are fighting over claim to you in the underworld?” Harry asked, turning to Barca with a smile.

Barca let out another laugh. “If I know them both, then they are fucking while waiting for me.”

“So…when you, me, and Pietros join them…we’ll be indulging in orgies every night?”

Barca looked so happy that Harry knew that this wasn’t such a painful topic for Barca to speak of. Or at least it had gone past the pain and was now something to be remembered fondly.

“Just thinking of such things makes me want you and Pietros in my bed.”

Harry smiled. “Perhaps if you ask nicely.” He teased.

“You said that you were too young and did not think of such things.” Barca told him.

“Perhaps since that talk I’ve been thinking a bit more about it and have wondered what it might be like.” Harry said.

“Do not tease with such things.”

Harry grinned then. “I’m not teasing.” He said as he stood up and made his way casually over to Barca’s cell, where Pietros was cooing over the birds.

The boy looked up and smiled when Harry came in and Harry winked at him and drew him into a kiss, just as Barca joined them.

“Fuck.” He exclaimed, shutting the wooden door and coming to touch the both of them.

“Harry isn’t ready.” Pietros told Barca sternly.

“I am.” Harry denied with a smile.

“You are?” Pietros asked in surprise.

Harry nodded with a grin that was wiped out when Pietros all but lunged at him for a deeper, more passionate kiss, slipping his tongue into Harry’s parted mouth as his arms wrapped around him and knocked him off his feet and onto the bed.

Harry heard Barca laughing, but he ignored it in favour of snogging Pietros, wrapping his legs around him and pulling him in tighter. He slipped his hands into Pietros’ tight, curly hair and tugged on it with a soft gasp as Pietros moved his mouth to his neck and sucked.

He looked for Barca and found him just stood there, watching with a satisfied grin on his face.

“Are you going to join us or just stand there looking all smug and proud?” Harry teased.

“I will watch you both for a while longer.” Barca said.

Harry laughed at that and Pietros pulled back from him to grin at Barca. Harry thought he understood then. Barca had had him first, without Pietros there. Pietros who had apparently loved him, or at least had lusted after him, from the moment he had walked through the gates and he had more than likely told Barca as such. Now it was Pietros’ turn with him, at least until Barca couldn’t hold back any more.

He and Pietros were truly young still, as such they were impatient. They didn’t care that they had all night laid out before them, they wanted to be naked and joined together as quickly as they could. That was when Barca stepped in, clucking at them like an exasperated mother.

“Go slower.” He told them as he pulled Pietros back a little. “Savour touching him for the first time.”

“We’ve touched enough.” Harry insisted.

Barca actually scoffed and pulled Pietros fully off of him. “You can never touch enough.” Barca told him as he held Pietros on his lap and started touching his neck and shoulder, drawing out soft sounds and moans from the boy who squirmed and arched in his arms.

“Fucking is just sex.” Barca told them. “Loving is something different. I will show you both.”

Barca turned and put Pietros down on the bed beside Harry before moving his arm to Harry’s other side, so that the both of them lay between his arms and he grinned at them both.

He knelt above them and he touched the two of them, mirroring one hand to the other as he slid his fingers slowly down their chests to their bellies. Harry’s breath hitched as a sensitive area, just below his bellybutton, was touched.

“See, Pietros?” Barca lectured. “You wouldn’t have found this soft patch by going fast. You need to explore his body, touch him in all ways to find out what he likes.”

Pietros rolled over onto his belly and he stroked just one single fingertip gently and slowly over his belly and Harry shivered, making more soft noises. The next he knew there were lips kissing that area and he squirmed, gasping when the tip of a tongue flicked over the sensitive skin.

“That’s much better.” Barca declared softly as he watched them with wide, dark eyes.

He moved then, to put his hands over Pietros’ back and he run his thumbs up the line of his spine, pulling a deep noise from his boy, whose mouth had found the crease of Harry’s thigh and was licking the smooth, soft skin happily.

“You’re so soft.” Pietros couldn’t help saying, panting as he gave the barest brush of fingers against Harry’s skin. “So soft.”

One of Barca’s hands moved to touch Harry as well, comparing the skin of two different boys under his fingertips. His hand gripped them both and he massaged the handful of flesh and delighted in the noises it got him, deep and familiar from Pietros, young and light from Harian.

Pietros arched his back and put his arse to Barca’s groin, knowing what to do to get his way. Harian pushed up his hips, trying to draw attention to the blushed cock between his legs, unsure and unfamiliar with what he wanted to do. It made Barca’s pulse race, he hadn’t been with one so untouched since his younger years, when he and Cyprian had made that leap together and he had been just as inexperienced and unsure of what they were doing. Pietros had been no virgin when he’d been bought for the ludus and Auctus certainly hadn’t been. Barca was reminded that he had been the one to take Harian’s virginity, orders or no, it had still been his hands that had caressed untouched flesh, his cock that had slipped into his body first.

He took that cock into his hand, smiling as the head just peeked out of the top of his closed fist, but Harian reacted as if it was the most pleasurable thing he could imagine, those hips pushing up, soft gasps and shudders wracking through his body.

“Do you see him, Pietros?” Barca asked, nudging his hips forward into Pietros’ arse.

“He reacts so quickly and so strongly.”

“Do you know why?” Barca whispered into an ear. “It’s because no one has ever touched him like this before. These touches, these sensations are all new to him. He is feeling them for the very first time and his reactions are intensified.”

Pietros shivered and bent his head to kiss a beautifully pink nipple. Harian cried out, his hands moving to grip at Pietros’ hair, his body quivering. Barca pulled more sounds from him, moving his hand slowly over the cock in his fist. Harian cried out again, desperately, and those mesmerising eyes opened to look up at them both, the tiny mouth parted on cries and panted breaths.

Another pull and those eyes closed again tightly, Harian arched his back and cried out again.

“He’s beautiful, isn’t he?” Barca whispered into Pietros’ ear, his boy still pressing against his groin.

Pietros nodded slowly, as if he couldn’t bear to tear his eyes away from Harian’s writhing form. He wriggled on Barca, who had to close his eyes and clench his jaw to breathe through the urge to grab a hold of himself and press into Pietros’ willing, waiting body.

“Why don’t you kiss him?” Barca suggested and he took a moment of respite when Pietros did as suggested and bent forward to kiss Harian, his arse moving away from Barca’s groin.

This meant that he could clearly see his boy’s hole and Barca wished fervently then that he had Auctus here with him, to help him. These two boys were going to kill him slowly. He knew exactly what Auctus would do in his position too and he grinned as he placed his hand on Pietros’ back and slid his thumb into his body.

Pietros cried out into the kiss he was sharing with Harian and Barca smirked at them both as his other hand, still on Harian’s cock, tugged in confident, sure movements that had the younger boy writhing and bucking up into Pietros.

He pulled back from the both of them, taking savage pleasure in their twin cries of anger and denial. He moved over to a shelf in his cell and took down the clay pot of oil, he dipped his fingers into it as two sets of eyes watched him accusingly, looking to what he was doing when they wanted his hands on them.

He smiled and took his fingers from the bowl and held them over Pietros, watching the oil slide between his cheeks. He took a moment to rub the oil in, reinserting his oiled thumb and listening to the soft noises his boy made for him. He dipped his fingers back into the bowl and turned to Harian, who was watching with wide, dark green eyes, breathing heavily in anticipation as Barca trailed an oiled finger over his thigh and then felt for his hole, teasing it with barely a press of his fingertip, rubbing in the oil and then switching fingers, he pressed inside just barely, testing for a reaction and when Harian moaned softly and those small legs fell open, giving him more room to work with, he took it.

He dipped his fingers again and then pressed fully into Harian’s body, taking the time now to feel him, to press and tease. This hadn’t been ordered of them, they could do as they wished for as long as they wanted.

This was tested when Barca recognised the signs of orgasm in Harian and he chuckled as he stopped preparing him. Those green eyes flashed open and looked at him desperately, pleadingly. He ignored Harian and turned back to Pietros, who had been watching, almost silently, stroking himself as he moaned softly.

He oiled his fingers again and this time set to preparing Pietros properly, he could almost feel the glare being sent to him by Harian, whose legs crossed and rubbed together, the boy squirming beautifully, unable to deal with the feelings inside of him, not sure what to do or how to alleviate the feelings. It was a very innocent reaction. Most boys would have taken themselves in hand and stroked, as Pietros had, to cross his legs and squirm…Barca knew then that Harian had never touched himself in such a way and the boy didn’t know what to do. He had to pull his fingers from Pietros and grip himself tight to control his own desires, ignoring the angry cry from Pietros for his quick withdrawal.

Once back in control and having breathed deeply, he slid his fingers back into Pietros, watching Harian as he calmed down from his squirming and opened his legs back up. His pink cock had gone red and Barca grinned, noticing that Harian lifted a hand to touch it carefully, exploring himself with unsure hands and a gentleness that was going to aggravate more than alleviate the urge to cum.

Barca jammed another finger into Pietros, listening to his boy cry out happily, in a way that was all too familiar to him and he pressed hard, knowing his lover inside and out, he knew exactly what Pietros wanted.

He watched as Harian wound himself up tight, his hands barely touching his angry cock, fingertips brushing the head, the thumb stroking the shaft with an innocence that was making everything for the boy worse.

Barca couldn’t take it anymore. He pulled his fingers from Pietros, stood and replaced the bowl of oil on the shelf, tugged on his own cock to coat it with the remainder of the oil on his fingers and he lifted Pietros into his arms, putting him down between Harian’s legs, taking the boy’s hands and removing them from his cock, where they were making things worse and he took hold of Pietros, smearing his cock with oil and then directing him to Harian’s hole.

He watched as they wrapped around one another, as Pietros sunk into Harian with a grunt, watched as Harian cried out and his hips jerked up into Pietros’ with the sensations. Barca remembered Harian doing the same when he’d taken him. He knew what it felt like to have the boy arching and bucking under him.

He watched them as they rutted frantically like mating bulls and he shook his head. His lesson in going slowly had not truly sunken in. He would have to teach them again, until the lesson stuck. He smiled to himself, he would take great pleasure in doing so.

The two of them eventually evened out and got used to one another, and that was when Barca moved, trailing a hand over Pietros’ back and he grabbed his boy’s hips to hold him still, moving himself to press against his hole. He pushed in with one long, smooth thrust, nudging Pietros into Harian and then keeping them pinned there. He grinned as he watched Harian squirm and wriggle, crying out and panting hard, which affected Pietros, who tried to move himself and couldn’t. Barca paid for this when Pietros purposefully clenched as tightly as he could around his cock and pulled a noise from Barca’s throat and had his hips nudging forward reflexively.

“Barca. Harder.” Pietros begged and, well, Barca was near helpless to resist one of his boys begging him for anything.

He got a firmer grip on Pietros’ hips and he nudged forward with more force, building up gently to all out fucking both of his boys, as the force of his thrusts were what was sending Pietros into Harian.

They both cried out for him, one of Pietros’ hands coming back to grip his thigh, encouraging him to fuck harder, faster, sending him into Harian, whose knees had come up to cradle Pietros’ body, his hands were tugging into Pietros’ hair and he was making those soft, sweet noises again.

Between the both of them, Pietros was the first to cum. His head snapped back and he moaned softly, clenching tightly around Barca in his pleasure and flooding Harian.

He refused to move, even as Barca and Harian tried to gain pleasure from him and he complained wordlessly as they tried to pull more from his tired body.

Barca slipped out of him and he chuckled at seeing a frustrated Harian trying to fuck himself on Pietros, who was going soft now that he was sated. Barca pulled Pietros out of Harian, to much distress from the younger boy, and placed Pietros to the side of them, before he turned his attentions to Harian, whose legs had crossed again and were rubbing restlessly.

Barca grabbed those legs and spread them, moving himself between and using his hand to guide himself into his newest boy. He could almost feel Harian stretching around him, but his boy didn’t care for being slow or careful, not when his pleasure spiked so high. He wrapped his legs around Barca tight and bucked his hips up hard, Barca sinking into him all the way with one thrust and it threw both of their heads back.

Barca couldn’t have controlled himself, not even if he was willing to waste the energy trying, instead he wrapped his hands around Harian’s tiny waist and fucked him hard, listening to the sounds his boy made, feeling the tug at his scalp that told him that Harian had a hold of his hair, feeling his tiny feet press into his back and arse as Harian urged him on.

Feeling the tight muscles clenching even tighter about him, Barca growled and tried to make himself last. He took Harian’s cock in hand and stroked him, quick and rough and that in itself almost sent the boy into spasms of pleasure…impossibly, he tightened around his cock again, squeezing, almost milking him as Barca forced himself into Harian’s body, tugging on him and when his boy orgasmed, nothing could have prepared him for the scream of pleasure.

Barca grunted and his hips juddered as he emptied himself into his clenching boy, who was lying spread out on the bed now, arms and legs thrown wide, panting heavily, eyes closed and a beautiful, satisfied smile playing about his lips.

Barca breathed deeply himself, coming down from his high, looking from Harian to a sleepy, grinning Pietros who was watching them. He carefully, slowly, pulled out of Harian. The sensation of ripping made him grit his teeth and hiss in pain. Harian’s green eyes opened to look at him.

“Sorry, wasn’t ready to pull back.” He slurred as if drunk.

Barca remembered then the feeling of being renewed after their first fuck and the sensation of being doused in icy water as soon as he had left the boy’s body. Harian had lost control of that healing power again during sex and Barca had pulled out quicker this time…next time he swore he would stay within Harian until that power was back under his control, it had hurt to pull out of his boy this time, as if his skin was being pulled off.

He slumped beside Harian and wrapped his arms around him, his hand found the mess on his boy’s belly and his fingers played with it, smearing it over Harian’s soft skin and listening to him giggle sleepily.

It was Pietros who sat up and grabbed the blankets, pulling it over the three of them and they cuddled together, shifting and nudging until they were as close to one another as they could physically get.

Harian fell asleep first, being so satisfied in a way he hadn’t experienced before had made him very sleepy. Barca found himself staring into Pietros’ dark eyes and smiling as they both held Harian between them.

“Does he fit?” Pietros asked with a smile, referring to a conversation they’d had when Harian was new to the ludus and hadn’t yet had his first fight. When Pietros had been caught staring at him yet again by a neglected feeling Barca, who had become angry enough to demand if Pietros wanted to move onto a new lover, a thing he had been too scared to ask before that moment in case the answer was yes. Pietros had turned to look at him with wide eyes and had innocently remarked ‘Do you not desire him also? Will he not fit between us?’ That had been the start of the end for Barca, knowing that his lover desired another boy, a boy who he also desired. 

It had been easy at the time to control his lust using Pietros’ body, as he took to hazing Harian as the new recruit that he was. Lust alone was not enough for him to include Harian in their relationship, he had stood firm about that, insisting that they might not like the boy underneath his appearance. But as the days crawled past and they came to see what Harian was truly like, there was nowhere else to hide their feelings. Not when he’d found himself admiring the strength of the tiny boy, respecting the determination, the fire within him, the kindness he showed towards Pietros, the defiant nature as he refused to allow anyone to claim a win over him on the training sands, refusing to use the missio and just getting back up to his feet again and again. Though it was when he refused to allow anyone to touch or use his body that Barca had decided that the boy was worth pursuing. Harian had had offers to trade sex for protection, but the boy had refused so quickly and so venomously that Barca had taken notice. Harian had instead proved to them all that he could protect himself, without anyone bigger or stronger doing it for him.

When he’d heard that Harian was a virgin, right before he’d been ordered to have sex with him, his entire body had gone stiff and rigid. He’d been so shocked that this beautiful boy was untouched that his brain had been unable to focus on much else.

Seeing the boy that he had come to grudgingly respect looking at him so fearfully, so upset and distressed, he had tried to do his best to get through to that defiant nature, to provoke some strength from the boy, and when that had failed, he’d gentled his approach. The gentle approach had worked and he’d coaxed Harian into lying still and calm. He hadn’t wanted to do as such, especially not without Pietros, but his choice had been removed from him. He hoped now that Harian knew what it was supposed to be like, absent orders, with the time to dedicate to proper preparation and touch.

He kissed the back of Harian’s head and he smiled at Pietros, moving one hand to wrap it around the back of his boy, pulling him in closer to Harian.

“He fits just fine.” He declared easily, watching the sleepy smile blossom on Pietros’ face, right before his boy snuggled into Harian and held him tightly.

Barca smiled and rested himself, settling down to sleep. He only knew one thing for sure this night and that was that every single one of his brothers would have heard Harian’s scream of joy and pleasure earlier. His boy was going to spend the day fending off teasing and bawdy comments from their brothers and it was going to be merciless and invasive. He would only step in to stop such remarks if Harian looked either distressed or overwhelmed or like he couldn’t handle as such on his own…otherwise he was going to be very happy to join in the teasing. Barca fell asleep with a smile on his face as he held his two boys closer. He still wished that Auctus was there to share his two boys with, but Pietros had been right all along, Harian did fit in with the both of them really well.

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By the time that the evening meal came around the next day, Harry was tired. The teasing had not stopped all fucking day and he wanted to crawl into a hole and never come out ever again.

He’d done his best to make light of the situation at the beginning, laughing at himself and trading teasing comments for sarcastic banter, but it hadn’t stopped and every time he hit the sands, it was ‘spread your legs, Harian’ or ‘Barca, your boy wants more of your attention’ and seriously, enough was fucking enough now. The jokes had gone stale before their noon meal.

“Be careful, or you’ll swallow the spoon too.”

Harry sighed at that and pulled the spoon back out of his mouth. It was his first bite and he was not going to sit here and take this all through a third meal.

“Be careful.” He said back softly. “Or you’ll be swallowing this spoon too.” He threatened. “I’ve had Barca, my throat can take it, can yours?”

There was hysterical laughter at that…Harry could almost believe that he was housed with a bunch of teenage girls. Barca’s arm slid around him and held him tight, Pietros’ hand on his knee made him smile as they both supported him. He drew strength from them, he’d suffered through worse teasing than this, he didn’t care. Last night had been one of the very best of his life, scream or no scream, he had fucking enjoyed himself, he refused to be ashamed of that.

“You should gag him tonight, Barca.” One gladiator laughed. “We need _some_ sleep.”

“I can help with that.” Harry said angrily. “I can make it so that you never wake up again!”

“He’s so angry because he’s getting frustrated. Barca, perhaps you should have sparred with him today and taken advantage of him always being on his back.”

“That was a low blow!” Harry hissed. “I’m fucking trying, alright! I want to live as much as the rest of you!”

“Enough now.” Barca demanded, pulling Harian closer to him. “Your jokes are becoming as predictable as an old whore.”

Harry was able to eat in peace then, shifting away from Barca, more towards Pietros, and he was much happier to talk quietly to them both, Crixus cutting in now and then with his own remarks from the opposite side of the table.

When their free time started, Pietros went to grab his favourite bird and he brought it out to Barca, Harry handed their bowls to Euclid and went to join them, but Donar called out to him.

“Harian! I need my lucky talisman.” He bemoaned.

Harry laughed and held a hand up to Barca and Pietros and went to sit beside Donar, who cheered and hugged his shoulders, shaking him a little before he turned back to playing dice and truly, if he used a small bit of magic to help Donar out, that wasn’t really cheating…well, it was, but Harry still didn’t like or trust Rhaskos or Hamilcar, so he didn’t care that he was making them lose coin that then went to his friend Donar.

Ashur had been avoiding him too, as was to be expected after his attempt to have him crucified by the Dominus had failed so spectacularly. The snake was very likely shitting himself right now over what Harry would possibly do next. The thought made Harry very happy inside, Barca was his lover now, and anyone who tried to pull one over on his lover was going to suffer for it. Anyone who tried to go after him was going to suffer doubly. The same went for Pietros too, because Harry had no doubts that Barca could more than look after himself, Pietros couldn’t and needed others to look after him, and that job had fallen to Barca, to Harry now too, as they were all lovers together.

“Fortuna truly favours you.” Donar said happily as he got Harry to touch the dice before Donar threw them. He shouted out happily as the two dice both read high and Donar cleaned up both Rhaskos and Hamilcar.

“It’s all luck and circumstance. I can’t really be lucky.” Harry insisted.

“You are!” Donar said furiously, holding Harry tight. “Fortuna holds her hands over you, she must! You don’t get a scratch in the arena, all dice you touch roll high!”

Harry just shook his head and touched the dice for Donar, who rolled a four and a six. Donar grinned his challenge to Rhaskos and Hamilcar.

“I’m not playing with _him_ here!” Hamilcar cursed.

Harry laughed. “It seems I’m no longer wanted. Have fun, Donar, may my luck stay with you tonight.”

Harry would make sure that it was so too, just from afar instead of being directly next to Donar as usual.

He went over to Barca and Pietros and he slipped down beside them, giving each a kiss and then cooing to the pigeon that Barca was grooming.

“Are you done watching dice already?” Pietros asked him.

Harry grinned. “I was shooed away like a stray dog. Apparently Rhaskos and Hamilcar dislike the luck I give to Donar when I’m watching. I’m not allowed to go back over.”

Donar cried out happily and raucously slapped at Rhaskos’ shoulder as he swiped the pile of coins on the table into his pile. Harry giggled.

“It seems my luck stayed with Donar.”

Barca snorted gently and moved to kiss him before turning his attention back to the bird in his lap, gently removing loose or bent feathers while Pietros fed it small morsels of bread. Harry watched them with a smile, seeing how gentle they each were with the bird. From Pietros it was expected, but to see it from Barca was just not something one expected to see, as he was such a big, ferocious man that seeing him being so caring and gentle was at odds with his actions on the training sands and in the arena, but Harry understood. He understood that what they had to do in the arena was going to be at odds with how they would normally act, he understood that what they had to do in the arena, and even on the training sands, was absolutely no reflection on their personalities.

Harry sighed and thought of what he’d been like before he’d come here, studying in Hogwarts, his friends, Quidditch, lazy nights in front of the fireplace in the Gryffindor common room just reading with Hermione, learning about the world in which he now found himself living, or perhaps finishing off some homework, or even waxing his Firebolt. It was a far cry from fighting for his life in an ancient Roman ludus.

“Harian.” Pietros said softly and he quickly shifted around to sit beside him, his large hands cupping his cheeks and wiping away his tears with his thumbs. “What is it? What has upset you?”

Harry shook his head and smiled at soft, gentle Pietros.

“It’s nothing.” He said.

“Something has upset you.” Barca growled. “Was it the manner that Rhaskos and Hamilcar shooed you away?”

Harry laughed wetly. He shook his head. “Nothing of that sort, Barca. I was thinking of my life before this. How I would just lounge around with friends and study, how I would read and play without a care in the world. Now I’ve come to this. It hasn’t been all that long truly, I’m still getting used to it. I just…I miss the things I used to do, the people I knew.” Another tear fell as he thought of Sirius. Was Sirius missing him? Or was the other part of him, the time turner part, taking his place while he was here, fighting for his life in gladiatorial fights to the death? He didn’t know enough about how time turners worked to be sure.

“You’ll get used to it eventually.” Barca told him, looking away over the training sands. “We all came from somewhere, we all came from freedom, and all of our paths have led us here, to this ludus, to each other.”

“I was born a slave.” Pietros reminded. “I have no concept of what freedom means.” Barca and Harry both touched him and soothed him.

“You will one day.” Harry said. “Perhaps it’s better to be born a slave and go into freedom, instead of going from freedom into slavery, but one day, Pietros, you will know what it truly means to be free.”

“We will be right there with you to show you.” Barca added.

Harry didn’t share Barca’s conviction of that, he wasn’t too sure he could survive much more of this, and being from the modern era, where slavery was illegal, where people didn’t truly grasp what it meant anymore, where it wasn’t something that people thought about or had to worry about it. To come here, to understand exactly what it meant, giving up all rights and ownership of your very own body, changing your thoughts and actions just to suit the whims of other people who actually, physically owed you, legally, like property, like mere furniture…only, not quite as furniture actually costed more than most slaves, and thus was worth more to the callous, indifferent Romans who owned them. Most slaves went from master to master for only a handful of coins, men and women and children too, being sold for several copper coins. Fighting men, like those physically healthy warriors sold as gladiators, could maybe command the price of silver, perhaps as much as ten denarii, but still less than a good footstool.

It was probably the most difficult thing he could possibly imagine. Going from a temperamental, confrontational, and rather sassy, sarcastic young teenager, to not being able to speak in front of certain people, of not even being able to debate his point with them. He was a slave now, he had no point worth listening to, no right to an opinion of his own, his master’s will was the only thing that mattered. He had to do exactly as he was told, as the consequences of doing anything other than complying completely with what was demanded of him were severe, including mutilation or death. He didn’t much fancy being crucified or even whipped, yet there were things that he just couldn’t even consider doing. He had been free, but not just free, he had never had to think on the concept of slavery so heavily, so seriously before, not from the time he lived in, not from the privilege he’d languished on.

It had been such a completely alien concept to him, that the very thought of following everything that was commanded of him, to the letter, and relinquish all ownership of his body and his very thoughts, it was something he just didn’t believe himself capable of doing. He’d never had to think of slavery before, yet all those who lived in this era of war and conquest, of victors and the conquered, slavery was as easy as a father selling his children, or an out of the blue raid on a far off village. They knew that they toed a line between freedom and slavery, Varro was a prime example, he had been born a free Roman citizen, yet to support his family he had sold himself into slavery, he had made that choice to become a nexus. The others, most had fought as warriors for their homelands, but they had gone into battle knowing that death was the likely outcome, yet they’d known what awaited them if they were captured. They’d known that they faced execution or enslavement where he had not had to think of such a thing, slavery had been illegal, a far off concept that no one needed to think about, coming here and being enslaved as he was, it had come as a very nasty shock and truthfully, he still wasn’t over that shock yet. He didn’t know if he ever would be.

Harry took comfort from Barca and Pietros, so far things hadn’t been too bad, he hadn’t been asked to do anything that he seriously wouldn’t have done. Of course he would never have chosen to murder others for mere sport, nor would he have chosen the manner in which he’d lost his virginity, but other than those, he was left relatively in peace with his brothers. How long this would last when he knew that some gladiators were used as bodyguards, convenient murderers, and even as living sex toys to the whims of those around them, he didn’t know. He would have to cross that bridge when he reached it, if he reached it, and until then he would do the best that he could and he would enjoy himself as much as he could, with Barca and Pietros, with Donar, Spartacus, and Varro. Then there was Crixus, who slipped away by himself for long periods and he came back with a dopey grin on his face. Harry believed that he was definitely getting sex from somewhere, as he had the same dopey look that Barca got on his face when he had either Harry or Pietros…or both of them, though Crixus just glared at him whenever he tried to tease him about it. Harry let him be, but he did warn him to be careful, reminding him that Ashur snuck around, listening to their private conversations and watching what they were doing because he was a snake who wouldn’t hesitate to sell them, or their secrets, out for his own advantages and personal gain.

Crixus had clapped his shoulder and thanked him for the warning, but he’d said nothing more on the matter. Not that Harry didn’t blame him. Trust came very thinly to these men, who were sometimes forced to face one another in a gladiatorial battle and might end up having to kill a friend, a brother, as they were forced to fight to survive. It all went back to them being slaves, to them having no choice in anything that they did. Harry was actually one of the most trusting in the ludus, as he considered many of them as friends, friends that he might have to face in the arena and might have to kill, or be killed in return, and he had no doubts that where he would struggle to kill someone he knew, someone that he considered a friend, that the other gladiators would have no such problems, or hesitations, when it came to killing him.

Perhaps that was what made him so naïve, why the other men all scoffed at him and his ideals on what friendship or love was when it was so different to them. Or perhaps they just knew better, they had been here much longer than he had, they had grown up in this world where an infection or a broken bone could be fatal, where the men and boys lived and died by the sword and women often died in childbirth. Perhaps they all just knew that friendship, and even familial relationships, were fleeting, and as such, they formed attachments, but not as deeply as he did, because they knew that death could be right around the corner, in any form, while he himself was used to modern medicine, a spell or a potion healing anything, to good food, even the Dursleys seemed like living in the lap of luxury compared to this, and Hogwarts could have been a fucking palace where they all lived like kings and queens.

He held onto Pietros tighter, and the older boy wrapped his arms around him and snuggled in tighter. Harry smiled then and he reached up to hold onto Pietros’ arms around his shoulders and he pushed such depressing thoughts from his mind. He was a slave now, he didn’t have the luxury of having any choice in what happened to him. Or to those around him, he thought with a look to Barca and a squeeze of Pietros’ arms. All he could do was use his magic as best as he could to give them all some help that worked to their advantage. He was incredibly thankful that he did have his magic to help him, he didn’t know what he would have done if that had been barred from him in this violent, vulgar time when it was such a source of comfort to him, not to mention how useful it had turned out to be in keeping those around him happy and healthy, and in the case of himself and Spartacus, alive.

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Another week, another update! Next week will be a good chapter, as we head back to the arena, for Harry’s third round of fighting, and I promise it’s a good one this time, well, for readers it will be, not so much for poor Harry. Those who have seen the show will recognise the timing, and welcome Theokoles, The Shadow of Death. It’s time to bring the rains!
> 
> I hope that you’ve enjoyed this little calm chapter, the blossoming of our main pairing, and literally just a bit more bonding between Harry and the other gladiators. He is coming to see some of them as his ‘brothers’, and he’s thinking of them as family, despite that he doesn’t really want to be there, not at all, but he’s making the most of it, as stated in this chapter he doesn’t know if this is the only life he’s going to get, so he’s making the best of a bad situation.
> 
> I’ll see you all next week, lovelies,
> 
> StarLight Massacre. X


	7. Inber

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last Time
> 
> Harry smiled then and he reached up to hold onto Pietros’ arms around his shoulders and he pushed such depressing thoughts from his mind. He was a slave now, he didn’t have the luxury of having any choice in what happened to him. Or to those around him, he thought with a look to Barca and a squeeze of Pietros’ arms. All he could do was use his magic as best as he could to give them all some help that worked to their advantage. He was incredibly thankful that he did have his magic to help him, he didn’t know what he would have done if that had been barred from him in this violent, vulgar time when it was such a source of comfort to him, not to mention how useful it had turned out to be in keeping those around him happy and healthy, and in the case of himself and Spartacus, alive.

Chapter Seven - Inber

The summer drought continued, and Harry had never known anything like it before. He was so dehydrated that he had no moisture left to sweat, despite the dizzying, sweltering heat. He could pull on his magic for energy, to keep himself as active as he could, but his mouth was so dry that his lips kept sticking to his teeth and his tongue would get caught on the roof of his mouth when he tried to talk.

Training like this was a whole new level of hell, and when there was very little shade on the training sands, and severely rationed water, men started dropping like flies from heat exhaustion, or dehydration…perhaps both. Harry made sure that he kept standing back up, that he didn’t receive any preferential treatment because of his size or young age. He saw what happened to each of the men who fell unconscious, the sneering and the name calling that they couldn’t fight in the heat like real men.

A quick blast of cool air over his body while he was knocked down had Harry being able to stand back up and face Donar once more.

“How are you holding up, tiny?” Barca called out from across the sands, taking a break leaning on his spear as his opponent, Rabanus, looked like he wasn’t going to get back up again.

Barca was dealing very well with the heat, being Carthaginian he was used to this sort of dry heat from back when he was a boy, in his own land. Harry cursed him for his ease in this hideous heat, of which they all knew affected him terribly, because they had all been witness to him collapsing because of it, or rather what they thought had been the heat, back when Spartacus had been condemned to the fighting pits. As a result of that his brothers were watching him closely, and like Barca, they were checking in on him more often, just in case.

“Better than you, Beast of Carthage!” Harry teased.

There were very few of them still standing, still training, only about a dozen of them. Spartacus and Varro, Barca and Donar, himself, Crixus, Ortius and a few others. The rest were either out cold with the medicus, or sat in the shaded eating area, trying to recover. This was where their Doctore ordered Rabanus when he refused to get back to his feet to face Barca.

“I’m doing better than all of you!” Barca insisted.

Harry giggled and ran over to him, pulling down his tall lover and kissing him soundly.

“Harian, do you wish to pair up with Barca?” Oenomaus demanded.

“I wish for us to be joined together, but no, Doctore, I’d rather not pair up with him. I want to pair with Spartacus. There’s more that he can teach me.”

Oenomaus sighed and nodded. “Spartacus with Harian. Crixus, pair with Barca. Donar with Varro.”

Harry went to Spartacus and he touched the bare skin of the suffering man. A little spark of energy and a cooling blast of air, and Spartacus looked reinvigorated.

“Gratitude, tiny.” Spartacus teased.

Harry laughed at the affectionate nickname that had stuck, that all of his brothers called him by, and he pulled a pose.

“Come on then, Spartacus. Show me what you have and teach me something new!”

Spartacus came at him and they clashed in a ferocious battle, able to do so now that they were slightly in better nick than they had been before.

“That’s more like it.” Oenomaus praised them happily as he watched them clash and actually have something resembling a real fight in the energy sapping heat.

After a tumultuous battle, which ended with a stalemate, and a lot of bruised flesh and sore spots, the both of them heaving in desperate breaths in the dry heat, Oenomaus told them to sit down for a moment.

“Pietros, water for the two men who actually show some balls and fight.”

Harry accepted the cup of water from Pietros gratefully and he took the first mouthful and dragged down Pietros, he kissed him and pushed the water into his mouth then pulled back and smiled.

“Some water for my beautiful lover.” Harry said quietly with a smile.

Pietros laughed and kissed him again. Harry sipped on his cup of water, trying to actually wet his mouth a little. Spartacus was doing the same. Their Doctore wasn’t wasting water on those who didn’t deserve it. Anyone who was still standing and willing to fight were getting water, those who had succumbed to heat exhaustion were not getting any water, despite getting to rest in the shade.

“How are you holding up?” Pietros asked worriedly. “The last time the sun got to you and you had to go to the medicus.”

Harry smiled and turned to pat at Pietros’ cheek. “I’m going to be fine, Pietros. I’m resting when I can, I’m doing what I can, but ultimately, we just have to push past the discomfort and keep on going. We might one day be fighting in the arena in these conditions, we need to be prepared.”

“I am glad that you see things so clearly, Harian.” Oenomaus told him as he walked past, overhearing his conversation. “You are right, you never know what conditions you’ll face in the arena, you need to be prepared for all eventualities. I am glad to hear that you understand this and will push yourself to prepare for such events.”

Harry nodded. “I don’t want to die just yet. So I want to continue fighting, continue learning and I’ll do my best.”

Oenomaus clapped his shoulder. “Good boy. Keep that attitude up and you’ll actually get somewhere.”

Harry nodded and he drained the last of his cup and handed it to Pietros with a kiss before he hefted himself back up to his feet.

“Come on, Spartacus. Up.” Harry gave him a gentle kick.

“We’re not all as young and spritely as you are.” Spartacus told him with a chuckle, though he got back to his feet and drained his own cup, handing it back to Pietros.

“What tactic have you adopted in this fight?” Oenomaus asked Harry critically.

“Conserving energy.” Harry replied. “I’m trying to force my opponent to move more, in this heat it’ll drain more energy more quickly, so if I can retain more energy, I can unleash an attack series that should overwhelm my opponent and drop him to the sand.”

“Why then did you both reach a stalemate?” Oenomaus asked.

Harry scoffed. “Spartacus realised what I was doing and adopted the same tactic and he was able to defend my attack series, as I was able to defend against his. Neither of us got the upper hand and we ended stalemated. I’m going to try some new tricks and see which one works the best.”

Harry got to witness a rare smile and he steeled himself. He only needed to survive another hour or so, then they would break for noon and he could slouch in the shade and just rest. Until then, he needed to figure out how to outsmart the very clever, tactically minded Spartacus.

Their next few fights all ended in stalemates and the sun was only getting hotter and more dangerous. Several times Harry stumbled without being hit and once he even went down to his knee and had to push back up through the agony of fighting while dehydrated and likely heat exhausted too.

“Alright, those of you still on your feet and fighting, go and get some food.” Oenomaus called out. “Stay in the shade as much as you can.”

Harry blew a cool blast over himself and Spartacus and he went to Barca to do the same. Even though Barca looked unaffected and completely fine, a simple touch to his skin showed that he was burning, just as much as the rest of them. Harry used his magic to cool Barca down as well.

“Gratitude, tiny.” Barca said, bending almost in half to give him a proper kiss.

Pietros joined them and he looped his arms around Barca and he went onto his toes to kiss him. Pietros, being taller, could do this without Barca having to bend.

Sitting in the shade was near bliss, and though none of them really wanted to eat, they did purely to get their energy levels back. They were allowed one cup of water, and Harry savoured his. He had tried to conjure water into his empty cup, but thus far he’d been unsuccessful. He tried during his free time though, practising relentlessly, just in case he managed to get it this time. It was a shame he didn’t know any weather spells either, so he could try and make it rain. He’d never had to ration water, or any fluids, before in his life and it was incredibly difficult to do and it was impossible to get used to it. He just wanted to drink his weight in water. Even the Dursleys had let him have water, even when he was locked in his room all day every day.

“Crixus, come here.” Harry patted the bench beside him.

“No, I’ll sit where I want.” He hissed, very bad temperedly because of the heat.

“Sit here!” Harry hissed back, in no mood to play games in this dangerous drought.

“Do as he says.” Barca said to his friend.

Crixus grunted and he relented, perhaps just too hot or too tired to argue anymore, as he almost fell into his seat.

“What?” He demanded.

“Keep your mouth shut and say nothing.” Harry said, before he reached out and touched his arm, passing along energy and a small wave of cooling air.

“What is that? What are you doing?” Crixus demanded. Loudly. Harry hunched a bit as several men looked over to them, and seeing nothing went back to grumpily prod at their food.

“Be quiet. I said I was an apprentice to our version of a medicus back at home, this is how we heal people. Now stay still and eat your food, you’re distracting me.”

“Why would you help me?”

“Why wouldn’t I?” Harry replied, focusing on the little wordless letters coming back to him that told him that Crixus was more drained than he was letting on, it was no wonder that he was so bad tempered. “You’re in bad shape. I don’t think I can heal all of this now. Come back to me during the next break and I’ll finish off. You’ll feel as good as you did when you were a young boy again.” Harry promised.

“He’s telling the truth.” Barca grinned. “I have never felt as good as I do now.”

“I don’t understand what you’re doing.” Crixus grunted. “How can you do these things? What are you even doing?”

“I’m healing you. It’s a special way back at home that we were taught to heal injuries and illnesses, now shut up, Crixus. I need to concentrate.”

Crixus kept flinching from the strange feelings, sometimes heat, sometimes cold, sometimes a small spark of pain, followed immediately by a soft soothing feeling, as if Harian was apologising for the unexpected bit of pain.

“Eat your food, tiny.” Barca interrupted sternly.

“But…”

“No. Eat yourself, you said you can’t heal everything right now, wait until later.” Barca insisted.

Harry sighed, but he understood the truth of the words. He pulled back slowly, then snapped the connection with a smile as Crixus jolted and shivered as he felt he’d been doused with icy water. On such a day it felt incredibly soothing. He already felt stronger, better.

“Gratitude.” He grunted.

Harry patted the thickly muscled bicep. “Think nothing of it. I need to keep you alive anyway. Who else but you gets so wound up when I tease him? You offer me the most amusement.”

Crixus pushed the tiny body sideways and watched as the crazy boy landed on the floor and laughed happily, in the high, tinkling giggle of those who were still children. It was discomforting to know he was so young. He would just be learning to be a warrior back in Gaul, perhaps accompanying his father on a hunt or two, learning how to properly wield a sword or a bow, how to scream out a true battle cry, and not the faux imitations of children at play. Harian’s voice was still too high to call out a proper battle cry, it would need to be much deeper, the voice of a man, before he could achieve a proper, fear inducing, battle cry. Crixus would teach him how to battle cry when he was old enough…if he lived that long, he thought sadly as he watched the boy pull himself up and go back to his barley and bean mash, still chuckling and smiling as if everything around him was a game that he was playing with his little friends. Harian would soon learn that this life was not a game, Crixus just hoped that he learnt it soon, before his playful attitude got him killed.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ X

There was another round of fights coming. Harry was petrified as he was informed, by Barca who had snatched the list of names, that he was down for one of the afternoon fights. Harry swallowed hard, painfully, and he had to sit down.

“You will be well, tiny.” Barca told him, sitting next to him after allowing Crixus to snatch the list from him. 

Harry shook his head. “This arena battle isn’t even in honour of anything.” He said. “There is no festival, it’s just…it’s for the sake of it, Barca. Just for the sake of it.”

Barca bent to kiss his head. “We will both be fine.”

“I am to fight with Spartacus in the primus!” Crixus raged.

Harry’s heart missed a beat. “I did not think that the Dominus would pit them against one another after what happened at the Vulcanalia.” He said to Barca.

“You misunderstand.” Barca told him. “They fight together, against the Shadow of Death, Theokoles.” 

Harry sighed. “They’re both going to die.” He said with a grimace at Barca. “Our Doctore couldn’t beat Theokoles, he told me the story when I asked about his scars, and they can’t even stand to train together, they will not work as a team. They will try to take on this opponent as individual men, and they will die for it.”

Barca nodded his agreement to his assessment and Harry sighed. “Perhaps a lot of brothers will die during this coming fight.”

“Do not invite death so willingly.” Barca chastised him.

“Sorry.” He said, shifting closer to Barca and resting his cheek against that strong chest, he smiled slightly to hear the steady, soothing heartbeat under his ear. “I don’t want to die. I don’t want you to die, I don’t want Crixus or Spartacus to die. I’m going to have to rest some more, I need to make sure everyone is in top condition for this. Maybe crack a few skulls together to get stupid fucks to understand they need to work together.”

Barca laughed and pulled him into a proper kiss. Harry made a frustrated noise and moved to straddle Barca’s lap, swinging a leg over him and sitting down on his barely covered lap.

Barca looked down at him and smiled in a rather gentle way, a loving way and Harry grinned to see it, swelling up happily, proud of himself that he had the love of this man, who owed him nothing. Of course when Pietros appeared, having heard the news that there were fight lists making the rounds in the ludus, he came to join them and Harry’s own loving smile graced his face as he looked at Pietros, who was worried for the both of them, as they were both fighting.

“Are you both…?” Pietros asked, though deep down, he must have already known.

Barca nodded.

“Yes.” Harry said softly.

Pietros’ face crumpled and the both of them moved to comfort him immediately.

“It will be okay.” Harry said gently.

“We will both be victorious and return to you.” Barca insisted.

“I can’t lose either of you, but I will not lose you both on the same day.” Pietros said, his young face still crumpled in a frown.

“You are such a delicate thing.” Barca chuckled lovingly, cupping a smooth cheek. “We will be fine. I have not survived as long as I have, Pietros, by being foolish nor unskilled in the arena.”

“I’m terribly lucky.” Harry grinned. “As Donar keeps insisting. I don’t want to die, Pietros, so I’m not going to do anything foolish either, though I can’t even hope to be believed if I insisted that I’m definitely more skilled than Barca. Of which I am.”

Barca scoffed, but he smiled at him in amusement. “You could not hope to have the same skill as I, tiny.”

“I do hope!” Harry laughed. “I already show promise. I will overtake you, Barca. You’ll be a little old man and I will have to look after you both.”

Barca threw his head back and laughed loudly. Pietros laughed too, but his eyes were glimmering with unshed tears and he bent forward to kiss him with a desperation that he had never shown before. Despite being born into slavery, Pietros wanted freedom with a wholehearted yearning, and he wanted that freedom with him and with Barca. Harry had been included in their dreams, how they were going to go over to the place where Carthage had once stood and start a little farm of their own. Pietros got so excited by such talks that he usually attacked Barca’s mouth with his own and the only thing heard in their cell after that would be soft pleas and breathy gasps.

“Are you women clean yet?” Crixus demanded as he came striding back into the bathing room, perhaps after shouting at Doctore for being paired in a fight against anyone with Spartacus as a partner.

“You, Crixus, are entirely too angry. You’re such an angry, bitter man.” Harry complained. “Smile a little, laugh a bit. If you’re not careful one day someone will take advantage of your anger and use it against you.”

“I don’t need advice from you.” Crixus sneered at him and Harry rolled his eyes as Barca put him down and started them towards the outside for their free time.

“So you have to fight with Spartacus, it’s not…”

“I will not fight with that Thracian! I can do it on my own!”

Harry shared a look with Barca. “What did I tell you?” Harry sighed. “Stupid fucks everywhere.”

“I don’t need him!” Crixus insisted.

“Do you think yourself better than our Doctore?” Harry demanded. “He faced Theokoles, he told the story to me. He barely survived, Crixus. He is the only one to _ever_ survive facing the Shadow of Death, and I will tell you now, Crixus, you’re a champion, but you don’t hold a candle to our Doctore. He can wipe the floor with you and not even break a sweat, and he could not defeat Theokoles. You have no hope, no chance, not unless you work with Spartacus to bring him down together. If you don’t, you’ll both die and that’s what you get for being stupid fucks.”

Harry stormed off and he went to sit next to Donar, who turned as soon as he was touched and then cried out happily as Harry sat beside him. He threw a heavy arm around him and pulled him into a sideways, brotherly hug and then turned to the groaning Rabanus.

“Put up coin!” Donar grinned. “I would see you thrashed.”

Varro chuckled from where he was sat watching and Harry smiled at him.

“Varro, come sit here, come teach me how to play properly!” Harry insisted.

Varro did as he’d asked and sat next to him, playing through him, using Harry’s own coin, so he wasn’t actually gambling, but it felt like it and he relaxed. This way he wasn’t gambling, but he was playing and it settled him a little. He reminded himself of his son, Janus, who would need his father. He needed to pay off his gambling debts and get back to his wife and son.

Harry stayed with Donar and Varro until it started getting dark. Varro had gone off to speak to Spartacus and Harry kissed Donar’s cheek, not really thinking of his actions, before he went running off to Barca and Pietros. He found Pietros first and he helped his lover finish off the last of his duties before they went to Barca’s cell. Harry hadn’t slept in his own in days. He had also moved all of his coin to Barca’s cell too. He trusted both men implicitly, they wouldn’t rob him. Barca even insisted on keeping them in separate purses, his own and Harry’s.

Barca wasn’t in the cell, so Harry assumed that he was trying to talk some sense into Crixus. He and Pietros settled the birds, Harry smiling at the soft, soothing cooing that was becoming so familiar to him. At first it had been difficult to sleep with the constant noises from the birds, now it was difficult to sleep if he couldn’t hear them.

He sat on the bed and he took off his tiny, handmade sandals. They actually fit him properly. He lay back and groaned happily. Barca’s bed was definitely more comfortable than the stone floor in the cell that he shared with Donar, Pollux and Fulco.

Pietros joined him and they snuggled together.

“I wish you and Barca did not have to fight.” Pietros said softly. “I get so afraid when you do, just in case you fall.”

“If we do, Pietros, take all of our coin and you will buy your freedom and you buy a nice little place of your own. You’ll have enough to live sensibly and then you join us at a nice old age, you hear me?”

“I couldn’t!” Pietros cried out immediately. “I couldn’t live without you both!”

“Shhh.” Harry shushed gently. “It’ll be alright. We’ll both be fine, Pietros, but if we’re not, you’ll be fine. Together we have enough coin to pay for your freedom and for a good life for you.”

Pietros said nothing, but Harry knew that his mind was far from soothed or settled. Harry turned to roll onto him and he kissed him, if he couldn’t settle Pietros, then he would distract him.

He sat up and he straddled Pietros’ lap and he smiled down at him. Pietros immediately laid his hands on Harry’s hips and strained upwards to capture his lips in a kiss.

They were naked and rolling around the bed when they heard Barca laughing outside the cell, calling out a farewell to someone, then the door opened and Harry could well imagine his face as he walked into his own cell to see him and Pietros all but wrestling on the bed, naked, kissing furiously and touching and petting.

“Fuck!” Barca cursed a moment later, once he was over his shock and he realised what he was actually seeing and he took a few steps inside before he shut the cell door behind him.

Neither Harry nor Pietros stopped what they were doing, they just carried on kissing and rolling around and Harry made a desperate noise, straddling one of Pietros’ thighs and rubbing insistently against it with short, sharp thrusts of his hips.

“I see that you’re both as impatient as always.” Barca grunted, plucking Harry off of Pietros easily.

“Barca, no!” Harry whined.

“Barca, put him back.” Pietros added, also in a whine.

Barca chuckled deeply. He sat on the bed with Harry in his lap and he reached out to grip Pietros’ cock in a heavy hand. Harry wriggled and fought, but Pietros lay back happily and pushed his hips up into Barca’s rough, calloused hand.

“Please.” Harry begged as he squirmed. Another hand closed around his cock and he stopped moving and slumped back against a strong chest and he let Barca pleasure him.

Pietros and Harry were near the same when it came to pleasure. They both favoured breathy gasps and moans, quick, harsh breathing as their chests heaved. Only once had Harry screamed, that first time with them both and that had been because it had all been new and amazing and he had not known what to expect in the way of pleasure. Now he knew better and he was able to tell his own warning signs and he could bite his own fist, or someone’s neck, or even the blankets when he felt the scream working up his throat from deep inside him.

Harry, still getting used to the pleasure of such things, happily threw his head back against Barca’s shoulder in release, which came quickly to him still. He was placed to the side, exhausted and now sated too, as Barca turned his all onto poor Pietros, who was teased and tormented by experienced hands that brought him so close to his pleasure and then backed away.

“Barca!” Pietros snapped. “Let me have the pleasure I seek from you.”

Barca smiled in a way that was completely male, a dominating smile that promised pleasure and love in equal measure and Harry smiled from where he was lying down, watching them both. Barca truly cared about them, and perhaps he might not love him just yet, but he did love Pietros. Barca adored him and would sooner part with his own arm than see any harm come to Pietros. Harry hoped that one day, maybe after some more time had passed, that he was subject to the same look from them both as they stared into one another’s eyes and Barca slid into Pietros and gave him the deep pleasure that he wanted.

He fell asleep curled against Pietros’ back, Barca on the other side of the Egyptian, and he smiled. Perhaps a bit more time and he might actually find something worthwhile in this dreadful place.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ X

Time was a fickle thing, Harry thought unhappily as he was chained up to his brothers, thankfully in front of Barca today, who he knew wouldn’t start kicking the backs of his legs.

Time had seemed to go so slowly, in the disgusting, drought-ridden heat of the training sands, yet, all too soon the day of the arena fighting had come. He had barely slept the night before, and neither, it seemed, had Pietros, who had lain awake in the bed with him, and a peacefully sleeping Barca, all night, absorbing their presence, the heat of their bodies, as if he might never again get the chance.

The walk to the town was as slow and cumbersome as ever, only today it was worse with the harsh heat and the lack of water, the sun wasn’t even fully up yet, and it was still too hot and too dry.

Being smaller was not without its advantages though, as Varro, who was in front of him, cast a large enough shadow that Harry was almost completely out of the direct sunlight. The downside to this was that he had to keep close enough behind Varro to be covered and with every slowing of the pace, or complete halt, he ran into the back of the big, curly haired Roman, who soon got fed up of it.

“Why are you not watching where you are treading?!” Varro hissed at him, wanting answers but unwilling to bring down the wrath of their Doctore.

“I am!” Harry insisted. “It’s just…well, you’re very tall, Varro. I’m taking slight pleasure in the shadow you cast.”

Harry heard Spartacus laugh, from where he was stood in front of Varro.

“You’re walking so close because of my shadow?!” Varro questioned.

“Yes. It’s nice and cool back here, out of the sun.” Harry answered happily.

“You little shit.” Varro chuckled.

“I need every advantage I can get. I’m still just lucky more than skilled. I am expected to die today.”

“You were expected to die in the Vulcanalia, and the games before that too.” Barca told him soothingly. “You are underestimated because of your size and shape. Use that to your advantage.”

Harry nodded. “I will.” He swore.

It was almost a relief to reach the cool cells of the arena. Out of the direct sunlight and cuddled up in Barca’s arms. It was a waiting game then. They had left at sunrise, some of their brothers fought in the early matches, so they were going to be here all day. Water was again rationed, but their Doctore saw them all with a cup as they waited.

Harry had handed over another single coin, under the approving eye of their Dominus, and the less than approving eye of his wife. Batiatus wasn’t a very superstitious man, but he still believed that if Harry backed himself, then he would win. His odds were again terrible. Much worse than his odds at the Vulcanalia and he had to wonder why. He found out barely several minutes later, when he was back in the cell with his brothers, and with a bad sense of Déjà vu, as their raging Dominus came stomping over, cursing and threatening.

“Dominus?” Doctore queried the man.

“Fuck the gods, I am through with all the scheming of that fucking Solonius! He manoeuvres me and my men like game pieces! Backing me into corner like a wild beast against a spear!”

Their Dominus seemed to calm once he’d raged and spoken all the words he needed to. He took several deep breaths before looking at them all. His gaze stayed on Harry.

“Harian, how fit are you feeling?”

Harry knew, he just knew, that whatever had thrown the man into a tantrum was once again because of him…because of Solonius, the man who had tricked Batiatus into buying him in the first place, then kept tricking him in order to try and humiliate him. 

“As fit as my brothers.” Harry said, because what else could he say? He was a slave, no one actually cared how he was truly feeling.

“Good.” The man nodded. “One of Solonius’ gladiators has fallen ill, and cannot attend his own fight. Solonius has offered you up as an alternative, yet you cannot neglect your own fight.”

“So I am to fight twice.” Harry said wearily.

“No. You are to fight both simultaneously in the fight before the primus.”

“Both together?” Harry asked, his stomach dropping to his feet.

“Yes, you’ll be fine.” His Dominus waved away, as if the mountain of a task before him was of no concern. Harry reminded himself that he was of no consequence to the other man, or at the least, very little concern. Perhaps the smallest smidgen, purely because he represented a loss of coin, or an embarrassment to Quintus Batiatus.

“Doctore, see the men prepared and well-watered. I would go and endure Solonius’ jibes and taunts.”

Once the man was gone, Harry slid down the wall, legless with his fear. He cradled his head and tried not to think on how he was going to die today.

“You have fought two at once before.” Spartacus tried to soothe him.

“Not gladiators, just noxii sentenced to die and already halfway there by the time I went onto the sands with them.” Harry said breathlessly as he gripped his own hair and tugged on it. His stomach churned warningly, the bread and porridge he’d eaten that morning now settled heavily in his belly and it threatened to make a reappearance. 

He heaved, just once, and his brothers all leapt away from him in alarm. All but Barca, who fell gracelessly down beside him and tugged him into a comforting embrace.

“Grab hold of cock and be a man.” He ordered. Harry remembered being told to do as such before. It was no easier to do now than it had been back then. “You will have gladius and pugio and aspis. You have fought and won against two men before, it makes no matter that they were noxii, you fought and won as a boy with no mark. You are a brother now, with more training, you can outwit the scum of Solonius.”

“I do not share your enthusiasm.” Harry deadpanned. “Sheer luck against two men condemned to die is not the same as being pitted against two trained gladiators.”

“Do not give up hope.” Donar told him. “Fortuna holds her hands over you.”

“Even Fortuna cannot aid me in this. The odds are just too stacked against me.”

“Keep your heart.” Doctore told him firmly. “If you need to even the odds, throw the pugio.”

“Doctore, you’ve always advised against throwing away weapons.” Harry pointed out, looking at the man’s dark, grim eyes. He didn’t think he would survive either, Harry could see it.

“In this case, I would recommend it. Just…try not to lose your sword also.”

Harry frowned at the reminder that at the Vulcanalia he had been disarmed and had needed to make a desperate dash to the arena wall, followed by a suicidal leap that could have easily killed him as saved him.

“All I can do is try.” He said, turning into Barca’s body, trying to take some comfort from him. Why the hell did it always have to be him?

He sat quietly, as his brothers all did what they were used to, watching the games as they started and commentating on form, advantages or disadvantages, and making wagers on who would live or die. Barca however, stayed with him this time.

“I still hold faith with you.” Barca told him quietly, once all of their brothers were thoroughly distracted with the first bout of the day…one poor, unarmed bastard against a half-starved pack of mangy, scrawny dogs. Very hungry dogs who wanted a meal.

Harry looked up at Barca and some look on his face made Barca turn away, the arm around him clenching tight.

“You know where my coin is.” Harry said as a reply. “Nothing would honour me more than you using it to free yourself and Pietros from this hell. Go to Carthage, build your farm, live free and happy and I will be waiting for you both on the other side. Don’t wait any longer, Barca, this place is too dangerous. You have enough with my coin also. Just get yourselves out. Out of that ludus, out of Rome. But do one thing for me?”

“Anything, name it.” Barca swore, turning back to look at him, his face serious, his expression intent.

“Name the sweetest goat you purchase after me.” He said with a weak smile.

Barca was surprised into laughing. “If that is your wish, I will do so. A tiny black one, but he will be feisty and quick and will give Pietros and I no end of trouble.”

Harry smiled and looked back at his hands. Calloused now, from endless training, but still too small, still too useless. Perhaps if he died he would slip back into his body back at Hogwarts? If there was a body back at Hogwarts that was. But then, what life would he have now, after this? How could he go back to how things were after he had killed for sport? Had formed lasting bonds with several men here? How would he love again after Barca and Pietros? Everything was unknown and it was terrifying. Nothing would ever be the same again, not here in Capua and not back at Hogwarts either, if he ever got back there at all. Everything had changed, and there was no going back from it.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ X

The waiting was horrendous, with the animal snarls from the beast hunts, then the clash of metal on metal of the early morning matches.

Their brothers came back alive, sometimes scraped and scratched, but otherwise unharmed. Fulco had needed stitches from one of the arena Medici, but he had grit his teeth throughout, as he was stitched then and there in the cell with them, with no pain relief, trying not to cry out and invite ridicule onto himself as he was roughly sewn back together with a crude, rather thick needle.

As noon came and went, as Varro, Donar, and several others all fought and won, Harry still hadn’t moved from his position cuddled up with Barca against the wall, drinking a few mouthfuls of water when Doctore passed a single cup around for all of them, but otherwise fretting about the fight to come. When Barca was called forward by their Doctore, Harry stood on jellied legs with him finally. Harry kissed him desperately.

“Come back.” He said softly. “Pietros will need you.” 

He gave Barca a huge jolt of energy which almost sent him stumbling, but the tall man just gave him a glare, knowing better than to mention his little talent in front of the others, though he wasn’t impressed if his expression was anything to go by.

Harry refused to watch Barca’s match, he just couldn’t, but he took his cues from the noises of his brothers. He flinched with every gasp or indrawn breath, and he settled a touch with every cheer.

It seemed a lifetime, every moment passing like a long stretch, but it couldn’t have been any longer than fifteen minutes from start to end and a proud, victorious Barca re-entered the cell, a bit bloody from a small cut on his arm and one on his thigh, but relatively unscathed, and more joyously, he was alive and well.

Harry hugged him tightly, knowing that he would be called next, as soon as the body was removed and fresh sand was sprinkled over the bloodstains.

“Look after Pietros, Barca. I will watch over you both, always.”

“Stop talk as if you were already dead.” Barca demanded. “Try as hard as you can to come back to us, tiny. Remember that we love you.” He added the last in a whisper into his ear.

“Harian, come.” Oenomaus called out.

Harry clutched at Barca for a moment longer. He craned his head back and puckered his lips and Barca bent to kiss him.

It took every single stubborn particle of his body, every last inch of dignity and self-respect, to get his body turned and moving. He felt all the blood drain from his face. He was likely an ashen grey colour as he slipped out of the cell and waited while his Doctore locked it again, nodding to his brothers who all cheered for him and expressed more faith in him than he had for himself.

His bottom lip trembled, and when he pressed his lips into a tight line to stop it, his chin started wobbling instead. He stumbled and got a supportive hand on his lower back from his Doctore.

“I’m walking myself to my death.” He said in a sort of numb horror.

“You will be fine.” Doctore said sternly. “Remember not to let them pin you between them, do not let one of them around to your back and do not get pinned to the arena wall.”

Harry sucked in a massive breath, but it was no use. He fell to his knees and spewed all over the sand, choking on bile and the acrid taste of fear. Doctore sighed and helped him back to his feet, brushing him off as if he were a small child…well, he was a small child, especially to these men around him. He was offered a half cup of water and not wanting to waste a drop of it, he did not swill his mouth out. He drank the cool, clear fluid and tried to get his head into the death match to come. He would definitely lose, and badly, if he didn’t pull himself together.

He needed a slight push from Oenomaus to get him stumbling out onto the sands and into view of the cheering, jeering crowd. He wanted to be sick again, but he managed to repress the urge. He called on his magic, letting the familiar part of himself comfort him absent his lovers’ arms. He used the magic to cool himself off, the small breeze of magic making the sweat on his brow turn pleasantly icy in the sweltering heat, which only seemed to have increased with his head now trapped in an iron helmet. Only the pulvinus had an awning, shading the ‘important’ guests, the rest of the crowd were bathed in the baking sunlight, and they were rowdy and restless because of it. Their blood was already up, having spent the entire day watching death matches, and now it was only his fight before the main event…Spartacus and Crixus against Theokoles, the Shadow of Death.

He was out first and he had the huge, colossal seeming arena to himself. He tried to pull himself together, but as he turned slowly, he sent himself to his one knee. He stood up again just as quickly, but it was enough for abuse to rain down on him from the crowd. He closed his eyes and tried to push away the noise, tried to breathe in the enclosed space of his little helmet that made breathing so very difficult. His whole head was now dripping with sweat and he used his magic to cool the sweat with another icy blast.

‘Head in the game.’ He chastised himself. ‘Head in the game. Head in the game.’ He chanted. ‘Think of Barca and Pietros. Fight for them both.’

He swallowed and he steeled himself, breathing raggedly as the two gladiators he was facing came out together to meet him, raising their arms to the crowd and growling, inciting the crowd to show them more favour. They were both big, one was a murmillo, as always, but the other was a hoplomachus. Harry wanted to vomit again from fear. He was no good at fighting the spear. He still lost to Barca in almost every match they had on the training sands. His only victories had come from sheer dumb luck and the odd fluke thrown in for good measure. He had never been any good at combating the spear, he needed more training.

As soon as they were told to begin, a lot of his fear faded to be replaced by the jerky desperation of a cornered rabbit. He could barely think past his seized brain, his thoughts had all stopped and he was quivering like a leaf in the wind. His fight or flight senses had kicked in, and they had fully chosen flight. He had to force himself not to flee, rooting himself to the ground…he told himself sternly, where the fuck would he flee to? He was in an oval, walled arena. His only option was to fight or die.

“Fight, tiny! Turn and _fight_!”

Harry was surprised to hear Barca’s harsh, roared words, his heart skipped a beat to hear him and the fear, the desperation in his voice as he shouted above all others to make himself heard and he remembered why he needed to fight. For his lovers. He couldn’t force Barca to watch another lover die upon the sands.

His magic hummed in alarm and Harry ducked at the last possible moment, feeling a sword slice over his head. Stupid fuck that he was, he’d allowed the murmillo to inch around to his back while he’d been stood in some sort of dazed trance like a lunatic. Now he was pinned between a murmillo at his back and a hoplomachus at his front. If he had any chance of surviving, he needed to get out of the killing ground, not stand here, gormless, and let himself be slaughtered like a trusting lamb.

He twisted and avoided a downward cut that aimed to split him in two, he jabbed with his sword, but it was easily parried away. He didn’t have the reach of a grown man, so he needed to get in closer.

The hoplomachus was a huge worry, as his seven foot spear could easily reach him without the man wielding it needing to come much closer.

Everything ebbed away as he twisted and moved. The noise from the crowd faded, his fear vanished, even the discomfort from his overly hot body encased in iron that was heating up under the penetrating rays of the bright sun was easing off.

He lost himself in the familiar motions, of remembered training and all the numbered forms that had been drilled into him, into all of them, during long days of training, the encouraging words spoken by his brothers, his lover, his Doctore. He very, very narrowly missed having his foot speared by the hoplomachus, and only thanks to his magic as he danced over the spear shaft and darted under its reach to get to the man wielding it. He managed a quick, fleeting stab and he danced away again, breathing raggedly in the heat and from the pressure of his quick charge. He’d left the hoplomachus with a sizable slice to his ribs, but regretfully he had missed anything major and he had not managed to gut him, or pierce an organ. He needed to do better, he couldn’t squander such opportunities as they would be few and far in between.

The murmillo charged at him as the hoplomachus inspected the damage done to him. Harry dived and rolled, slipping past the murmillo, but putting his back to the hoplomachus…this was getting too dangerous, he was getting tired too easily and he was running rings around them both…not a good idea in this heat, with his iron armour, with a drought going on combined with dehydration. He would collapse before his opponents even got the chance to skewer him. They only needed to keep him busy and running around and he would do the rest for them if this carried on.

Desperation and the fear of losing became his greatest assets as he twisted, turned and sliced up his opponents, using heavy amounts of magic to avoid their cuts and swings in return. The crowd were back to chanting his name, he heard as he stopped for a tiny breather. Then again, both of his opponents were gasping like wounded wildebeests, bleeding from numerous little cuts or nicks, and he was still upright, still unscathed and unbloodied. That had to count in his favour, but he knew it could all end in an instant, so he kept his guard up, and he pulled his magic in tighter, feeding it out slowly to ‘taste’ the resolve of his opponents. The murmillo was suffering the most. In his armour, in his heavy, fully enclosed helmet, with no magic to help him breathe, he must have been dying, gasping for the slightest bit of air as his head slowly cooked in his own helmet. Aware of this, Harry used a little bit of magic to cool himself down again. He felt refreshed and he inhaled deeply. He launched a sudden, unexpected attack. He dropped his shield to the sand, slid under the sword thrust from the startled murmillo and he surged up to his feet, both hands grasping his sword, his full weight behind the gladius, and it slid easily over the rim of the scutum and into the exposed chest of his opponent.

His magic hummed, and ripping the sword free, Harry quickly crouched and lurched backwards simultaneously to avoid the spear that was jabbed at him. The crowd roared in delight as the hoplomachus speared his own dying brother on accident.

Not pausing, Harry darted in to stab the hoplomachus, whose spear was caught in his brother, who was now dribbling blood from his mouth as he twitched on the sand. His movement was caught and the hoplomachus slammed his shield out to meet Harry’s thrust. The backhand that followed threw him from his feet. He hadn’t expected the man to let go of his spear to fucking backhand him while he was wearing a metal helmet.

He rolled backwards, to sit on his arse while he stopped seeing stars. He watched as his last opponent ripped his spear free of his dead comrade. Taking a huge breath, Harry forced himself to his feet and he watched the play of muscles and joints tensing or relaxing to figure out where the hoplomachus was moving, where he might be aiming for.

When it came, Harry was ready and he knew the man was feinting left and aiming at his right, Harry took advantage of this split second knowledge and he darted to the left and he plunged the blade deep into the exposed side as the hoplomachus lunged right, his long, overbalancing spear thrust out to hit a body that wasn’t there, that hadn’t been fooled by his feint as had been expected. Harry put all of his weight behind his sword, sinking the blade down to the hilt. The tip of it popped out the other side, shredding guts and organs as it sliced through the body. Harry breathed deeply, stood still, locked in this embrace with the dying man, who grunted and fell to the floor, taking Harry with him. Harry who hadn’t let go of the sword, which was stuck fast into the man’s body, and the dead weight of the hoplomachus had pulled him down to the sand too. Harry let go of the bloodied sword and stumbled back to his feet. He would leave the sword where it was, he already knew that he couldn’t get it back out again.

He wondered if he would be punished for killing both his opponents without leave to from the editor of the games, but he found that he was too exhausted to care. He had survived. It was sinking in, bit by bit. He had survived. He laughed almost hysterically and his knees threatened to go from under him. He was just stood there, laughing to himself, as the crowd cheered and roared his name.

“Harian! Here.”

He turned slowly, almost in a dream-like state. He saw his Doctore beckoning him from the gate and he laughed again, overwhelmingly glad that he had survived. It took him another couple of minutes before he stopped laughing, another minute or so to remember what he was supposed to be doing, and as the crowd chanted for him, he raised a fist and wobbled his way to the gate where Oenomaus was waiting for him.

He all but fell into those strong arms and he was almost delirious as he giggled and huffed, he was almost sobbing by the end and his helmet was removed for him, releasing his dripping head from its blistering prison.

“Pull yourself together.”

“I’m alive.” He said with a wide, bright grin.

“You are. I told you that you didn’t need to fret. Though we will be having words back at the ludus for standing like foolish statue as contest began.” His Doctore said harshly. “Here, eat quickly.”

Harry was surprised to get another sausage, but he ate quickly, allowing the familiar motions to calm him as he forced it down, gratefully accepting the cup of water, which he sipped on as he was walked back to the cell where his brothers would be waiting…where Barca would be waiting to berate him for being a stupid fuck and not moving, almost letting his opponents cut off his head without even fighting back.

Barca did no such thing. He clamped Harry in his arms and refused to let him go, picking him up off his feet and almost crushing him in a tight hold.

“Well done, tiny!” His brothers called out, all patting him, or in Donar’s case, rubbing him for luck like he was an amulet. He’d done that before his own fight, and he swore that it was the only reason he was still alive.

Harry started laughing again, with an edge of hysteria. It took several moments before the laughter turned to sobs, then to tears, as he held on tight to Barca.

“What madness seizes brain?” Crixus demanded of him.

“He expected to die.” Doctore’s voice interrupted. “He prepared for it, to suddenly find himself the victor, when even he doubted himself, it causes a slight hysteria stemming from relief. It will pass once he settles.”

Harry did settle too, as the bodies of his opponents were dragged away, to wherever the dead were taken, and the arena was resurfaced, new sand being layered on top of the blood soaked sand from Harry’s bout.

Harry squirmed and Barca finally put him down, but he refused to go far, he hovered as Harry stumbled to Crixus and passed along as much energy as he could. Crixus grit his teeth against the slight stinging pain, but he welcomed the quick break as he again felt like he’d been doused with icy water. Harry went to Spartacus and he gave the remaining energy over to him, again snapping the connection quickly to give him the icy sensation. He had just enough about him to stumble back to Barca and he passed out cold in his arms. He awoke several hours later in the filthy medicus’ rooms in the pitch black. He didn’t know it then, but a drugged, dying Crixus was in the room with him. He just rolled over and he went back to sleep, to be woken again another several hours later by pained screams of agony.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ X

He was up and looking blearily about him as the screams woke him. He was struck dumb when he saw the state of Crixus for the first time, as the frustrated, clearly exhausted medicus came skidding into the room.

Harry leapt up and he went to Crixus’ side and he pinned down those huge, muscled arms that fought against him, causing more pain in his weakened state.

“Hold him!” The medicus ordered, as Crixus’ bellows and screams continued. The entire ludus, and likely the villa above, would be woken by such agonised screams.

Harry fed his magic into the nearly naked man below him and he was horrified by the state of him. Crixus was near death.

He worked quickly to pass along energy, but not too much. Too much and it might throw Crixus into death throes and end up killing him. Instead he started off small, giving Crixus enough for his body to work with, just enough to anchor him to life. He would do more later, in small increments, to help heal Crixus and nurse him back to health. He could only hope that Spartacus was even alive, but he tried not to think of such things at the moment, as he tried to root Crixus to something tangible, so that his body could start to heal itself, so that he had something to work with instead of trying to come back from the brink of death on his own.

Oenomaus came charging into the room, following the screams, but there was little he could do, except grab a hold of Crixus’ legs and pin them down.

“It is good to see you awake, Harian. You terrified everyone dropping so suddenly.”

“It was likely a delayed reaction, Doctore.” Harry said as he pinned Crixus down while the medicus furiously mashed up herbs to give him to knock him back out. “That and I used a lot of energy during the fight, with the drought too, I was exhausted.”

“Ah, that’s right, you don’t know.”

“Know what?”

“Spartacus and Crixus won their fight, they killed Theokoles and the gods were pleased. It started to rain. Spartacus is now being hailed as the Bringer of Rain.”

Harry giggled. “The Bringer of Rain? Well, I am at least glad to hear that he’s alive still, I did not want to think of the alternative while I hold down Crixus’ broken body.”

“Spartacus was barely harmed at all.”

Harry nodded, and now knowing that, he focused his all on Crixus.

“That bruising on your face hasn’t gotten any better overnight, I see.”

Harry was startled enough to look up at his Doctore…he remembered then the powerful backhand he’d received from a gauntleted hand.

“Is it so bad?” He asked.

“It is very large and very colourful.”

“Would that I could kill the one responsible yet again.” He growled.

“You have killed him once, that is enough.” Doctore told him with a smile.

Harry sighed and dropped his head. “I truly believed that I was going to die this time.”

“Tell me, why did you stand like foolish statue to allow your opponents to pin you on both sides?”

Harry grimaced. “I was…I wanted to run, I wanted to flee. Every part of my body was screaming at me that we had to run away, but I rooted myself to the spot. I was telling myself, you stupid fuck, where would you flee to in a walled arena surrounded by armed guards and Romans baying for blood? I was convincing myself that we had to stand and fight, it was the only way…then Barca’s voice cut through and I realised exactly where I was having that conversation with myself, at what time, and how stupid I was being, and I ducked.”

“Just in time to have blade sail overhead and not through delicate neck.”

Harry nodded.

“Barca was yelling at you so loudly that even the crowd noticed.” Oenomaus told him. “He was desperate to get you to hear him, to move, to try and fight.”

“I will apologise for being a stupid fuck when I see him, Doctore.” Harry said. “It was not meant, I was just trying to stop myself from being even more of a stupid fuck and fleeing in the arena. I don’t know what it was about this fight, out of all of them, that unsettled me so much.”

“It was unexpected.” Doctore told him calmly. “Dominus was once again tricked and once again, you were the one to suffer from it. I hope with this victory in the arena, again with not a scratch, even despite your rather large bruising, that Solonius will see that we here have turned you into a proper gladiator and he will stop with these tricks to try and get you killed. You were posted in the match before the primus this time, a place of huge honour. You have come far from the little boy who could not hold sword nor shield. The crowds marvel at you, they cheer for you and they want to see more of you. As long as they can’t get enough of you, you can command a high price indeed.”

Harry snorted. Then he realised what was said and he cursed. “The bet maker! I passed out and…”

“Calm yourself. I collected coin on your behalf, as always. I have the purse safe.”

Harry smiled then. “I have so much coin now I hardly know what to do with it.”

“What are your plans for it?”

Harry looked around for the medicus, who had vanished to get more herbs.

“Barca wants to buy his freedom.” Harry said in a whisper, barely being heard over Crixus’ grunts and screeches. “He’s making plans to buy his and Pietros’ their freedom, they want to go to the remains of Carthage and set up a little farm together.” He said with a dopey grin. “I think…I think I would do anything to see them away from this place, even give them everything I’ve earned to see to their freedom. Barca has enough, I think, but he won’t leave until he’s assured that Pietros can go with him. He won’t leave him here.”

“I would think not. I wouldn’t think he’d leave you either.”

Harry sighed. “It’s a dangerous life, Doctore. I am just a young boy, and young boys do not get to buy their freedom. Barca is getting older, slower, stiffer. He’s had his time in the arena, it’s time for him to retire before he gets killed. Pietros is just a slave boy, he can be bought for a handful of coins. But…but I have years left, if I can survive. I’m not going to be able to buy my freedom yet. I think, absent being able to buy my own freedom, there is nothing more worthwhile to me than seeing those I love to safety, beyond these walls.”

“Do you think Dominus will let Barca go so easily?”

Harry frowned. “I’m not sure. He strikes me as…” Harry stopped and looked around again, before giving a look to his Doctore.

“Anything you say here will be held in confidence.”

“He strikes me as very selfish, Doctore. He would bleed each and every one of us dry, to the very last drop, in order to get more coin and if we die in the process, it’s nothing to him. He will use and abuse us, as is his will, but if we have no chance for freedom, especially after everything that Barca has done for this house, all the prestige and coin he’s won for the ludus over the many years of his loyal service, what is the point in even fighting at all? What is the point of being loyal to someone who disrespects us so much? Why bother fighting for someone who will never free us from servitude, when we know that we have to fight into old age and die all the same, for what?”

“There was a gladiator a year before you, a champion, his name was Gannicus, and he was freed in the arena.”

Harry looked at his Doctore and he shook his head. “Was he freed by our Dominus, though, Doctore? Or was he freed by the editor and the crowd? From what I have seen of them man I call Dominus, he would never have freed any of us, especially not a champion of his ludus, no matter how spectacular the showing. We’re not even blood and bone to him, Doctore, we’re sacks of coin.”

Doctore just nodded, but he remained silent. He looked thoughtful, so Harry left him to think as he tried to soothe Crixus, who was now whimpering and sniffling. He must have been delirious with pain to show such weakness.

The medicus finally came back and he ground up more herbs and he rushed over to force the drink into Crixus’ mouth. It took long, slow minutes before Crixus’ body relaxed and he stopped whining in his pained state.

Harry pulled all of his magic back, leaving not a single bit behind, before he pulled his hands from Crixus’ shoulders. He didn’t want the already agonised man to feel the slightest bit of additional pain, not from him.

“Are you fit for training, Harian?”

“Now?” Harry asked.

“It is midday.” His Doctore said with a smile. “You have been abed for many hours.”

Harry groaned. “Then I suppose I had better shift my arse and get ready.”

“Go and grab some food. The men are all in free time, but they shouldn’t trouble you, not after your showing yesterday. Though…Pietros is very worried about you, no amount of soothing from Barca is helping. He spent a lot of time with you in here yesterday.” Doctore said with a small smile. “Go and show the boy that you’re still alive so he can focus on his duties.”

Harry snorted and he went to find a pot to use first. He checked his face in the reflection of the water pool, which was once again full from the rain. The bruising really was rather bad, though not as bad as when Hamilcar had tried to take his head off in the first week of him being here, likely because Harry had had some protection from his helmet.

Harry walked out, straight into the eating area where they took their free time and a squeak from his right let him know where Pietros was and he turned, already smiling as Pietros came and lifted him from his feet.

“It’s good to see you, tiny!” Donar called out.

“I was trying to stay away for as long as possible, so that I wouldn’t have to spend more time with you ladies.”

His brothers all laughed, jeering at him, passing back insults, or just telling him that they were glad to see him and then Barca was there, touching his face gently. He pushed at Pietros and he led them right to his cell, amid ribbing from the others about him being insatiable, of missing his tiny boy overnight, of not being satisfied with just one boy any longer.

Barca took the ribbing with good grace as he closed the door to his cell and sat on the bed, pulling Harry from Pietros’ arms to sit him on his lap before he pulled Pietros into his side also.

“Are you well?” Barca asked him calmly.

Harry nodded. “I am. It’s just bruising, it’ll fade.”

“When you dropped so suddenly, my heart almost burst.”

“You should have known that I would pass energy along to Crixus and Spartacus. I gave them the rest of everything I had, I needed to sleep after.”

“I hoped that that was all it was, and that it didn’t stem from this.” Barca said, laying a large hand over Harry’s bruised face.

“I am sorry that I worried you.” Harry said softly. “That was not my intent. Of course it would be worrying, especially as I was delirious with relief after finding victory, and even before that, when I was being a stupid fuck in the arena.”

“Barca said that you fought very well.” Pietros said, looking between them both.

“I did. Well…I think I did.” Harry said. “But I was rooted to the spot at the beginning. I didn’t move as the signal was given to begin and I almost lost my head…if I hadn’t heard Barca calling to me, I might not be here right now.”

“You never told me that!” Pietros cried out.

“I assume he wanted to spare you the details, Pietros. I am alive, there is no use fretting over things that have already happened.” Harry said firmly.

“Why did you stand rooted to spot like fucking rabbit?” Barca demanded.

Harry sighed and took Barca’s hand in his own, and then reached for Pietros’. He held them both and smiled to see their hands twined with his own.

“I was fighting with myself. Something about this fight unnerved me, I was unsettled. Being told a few hours before you are to fight that suddenly you are now facing two opponents…I was terrified, Barca. I thought I was going to my death. I had to talk myself out of fleeing. I wanted to flee and the only way I knew how to stop myself from doing so was to root myself to the spot while calling myself a stupid fuck and asking myself, where would I flee to in a walled arena. It was my way of forcing myself to stand and fight…if I had started to run, to flee, I wouldn’t have been able to stop and I would have been butchered. I had to root myself to the spot so that I could fight, it was the only way I knew how to force it, let myself be attacked first so I went onto the defensive. I am sorry I worried you.”

Barca kissed him and Harry knew that all had been forgiven now that he had explained himself.

“On a happier note, I haven’t lost my winnings at all, Doctore has them for me, so I have more to add to the collection. I had wondered why my odds were so high, but it was because I was in the fight before the primus and against two opponents, though I really thought that the hoplomachus was going to be my death. But I needn’t have worried, he was nowhere near as skilled as you with long, hard things, Barca.”

Harry got the desired effect for that comment when Barca and Pietros both laughed. 

“How is Crixus? We all heard him screaming. Doctore sent us for an early meal.” Barca told him.

Harry looked up at him sadly. “He’s in a bad way. I was able to assess him and I realised that he was dying, right then and there. I managed to anchor him to life, to give his body a chance, but I need to be able to spend some serious time with him if I was to heal all that has been done to him. What even happened?”

“Do you need to eat?” Barca asked instead and Harry knew then that it was bad, especially if Barca was trying to protect him from it.

Harry nodded. “I’m to go back to training after the noon sun has passed. I need to eat before then.”

“Come on then, we only have a short break left.”

Harry nodded and he let it drop. Perhaps seeing his friend being cut up and butchered on the sands had affected Barca more than he was willing to let on. Harry would leave him to his privacy, he could always ask Spartacus, or Varro, or Donar. For now, he needed to eat and get back to training. He needed to recover himself if he was to have any chance of healing Crixus. That was if he was even allowed near Crixus, but he would wait for an opportunity to present itself. If he was clever and patient, an opportunity to heal Crixus was sure to come about.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ X

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: We are getting into the meat of this fic now, as we pass the death of Theokoles, and the bringing of the rains, which ends the awful drought. Crixus is now on his death bed, and Harry has ‘miraculously’ survived his third appearance in the arena. This is a good thing in the short term…but the insatiable curiosity of the Romans may yet see to Harry’s death.  
> The next chapter is going to be rather eventful as well, with the introduction of the new recruits, and those who have seen the show will know that the time has come to say hello to Agron and Duro…fuck I love those two. But also, we’re at the part of the show where a certain snake gets his revenge on Barca, leading to the end of our adorable Pietros, and Spartacus is reunited with his wife, Sura.
> 
> Until next week, lovelies,
> 
> StarLight Massacre. X


	8. Miseria

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last Time
> 
> Harry nodded and he let it drop. Perhaps seeing his friend being cut up and butchered on the sands had affected Barca more than he was willing to let on. Harry would leave him to his privacy, he could always ask Spartacus, or Varro, or Donar. For now, he needed to eat and get back to training. He needed to recover himself if he was to have any chance of healing Crixus. That was if he was even allowed near Crixus, but he would wait for an opportunity to present itself. If he was clever and patient, an opportunity to heal Crixus was sure to come about.

Chapter Eight - Miseria

Life in the ludus was much the same as always, only, it wasn’t. They still trained, ate, slept and had their free time as usual, but the dimensions of the ‘hierarchy’ had all changed. Gone was their champion, Crixus, who was still deathly ill with the medicus, and now they were under the ‘rule’ of their new champion, Spartacus. Spartacus who was floating on cloud nine after being told that his wife, Sura, had finally been found and was being brought to the ludus for him.

Barca was making plans to leave before the next arena fights, taking Pietros with him, which would leave Harry without his two new lovers, but he had sworn to them that he didn’t want them to wait, he didn’t want them put at risk because of him. He promised that he would go to the site of Carthage and he would find them, whatever it took, once he was freed himself.

But it was still a sad time, to watch as they packed things up and prepared to leave behind this awful life of slavery.

He tried to keep away from Barca’s cell during this time. It was heartbreaking enough, he couldn’t watch them too. He’d only known them for a small while, but here, in this place, it was like dog years. He felt like he’d known them for years, not merely a few months. It was the same with all of them, he spent every single moment with these men, it was different to any other situation he’d ever been in. He was closer to these men because of it, he knew these men and they knew him in a way that was impossible to replicate, because they had absolutely no privacy. They trained together, fought together, ate together, bathed together, and spent all their free time together. It was impossible to get away from them, and it was impossible to get any privacy.

Of course Harry was furious when he heard that Barca had once again taken a bet with Ashur.

“Are you a stupid fuck, Barca?!” Harry sighed. “I told you not to wager with Ashur!”

“The odds were too great to pass on!” Barca insisted. “A thousand to one.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “What good are odds when you’ll never see return?”

“I will have return of coin promised.” Barca insisted.

Harry sighed again and rolled his eyes again. “As long as you don’t lose your head for it.”

“From Ashur?” It was Barca who scoffed and Harry sighed heavily, wearily. It seemed he needed yet another chat with Ashur, as there wasn’t any way that he could pay Barca what was owed, Harry knew it.

Crixus continued to lie at death’s door and the medicus insisted that he had done all that could be done for him. Harry heard him saying as such to Doctore and Dominus, before hurrying back off to tend to Crixus. He sidled up to the two remaining men and he interrupted gently, with a slight cough.

“Harian, what is it?” Their Dominus asked, willing to allow his insolence purely because of his outstanding victories in the arena.

“I overheard, Dominus. I was a healer’s apprentice before I came here. The medicus might have done all he can for Crixus, but I might yet be of help.”

“You were apprentice to a medicus?”

“Our version of such, we called them healers.” Harry said.

“You made mention of such before.” Doctore said.

Harry nodded. “It is the truth. I can’t make miracles happen, but perhaps I could help where the medicus cannot.”

“I do not know that such a thing would be of help to Crixus.” Dominus fretted.

“Crixus is dying, Dominus, and the medicus cannot help him anymore than he already has. If I try and fail, it will be the same outcome. But if I try and what I do works, Crixus may yet make a full recovery.”

Their Dominus looked torn, before he relented. “Then go, do what you can, let us see if new approach lends aid to Crixus, so that we see him back upon the sands.”

Harry nodded and he hurried off to the medicus’ rooms.

“What have you done now? I am already overworked with that one!” The filthy medicus said, waving an arm at a chained down, still bloodied Crixus. He hadn’t even been cleaned, Harry was furious.

“I am to try and heal him in your stead.” Harry said, bustling past the medicus and going straight to the grey coloured Crixus.

“What madness is this? Are you a medicus, I think not!”

“Why don’t you go and take it up with the Dominus?” Harry snapped.

“You will be taking it up with the Domina when she hears!” The medicus told him before storming out, his face pale, and his eyes panicked.

Harry sighed in relief as he got the privacy that he needed and he laid his hands on Crixus gently, and he set to work what he had saved his magic for. It flowed out of him and into Crixus, and with it Harry set it to specific tasks, knitting together tissue and muscle, so perhaps now Crixus’ intestines wouldn’t be poking out the wrong side of his body.

He worked on removing infection, of course Crixus would be infected being tended to in such a filthy place by such a filthy man. He wished now that he’d paid more attention in potions, but he could recognise several herbs by their shape, smell, and even taste, and he moved to make something stronger, which would completely dull Crixus’ pain. He remembered when he’d had to regrow the bones in his arm in his second year. He remembered watching Madam Pomfrey as she made a stronger pain reliever, right at the table over his legs, as all the ones she had were milder. He had taken that pain reliever so that he could sleep with the stabbing pain in his arm. He remembered the herbs needed to make it as he checked the store room for ingredients.

He mashed everything up furiously, grinding leaves and herbs into a paste. That was when the medicus returned with not only the Domina and her body slave, Naevia, but also Doctore and Dominus too.

“How fares he?” Dominus asked.

“Better.” Harry replied.

“What is that you are making? Do you seek to poison him?!” The medicus demanded before turning back to the Dominus and Domina. “I warned you that he didn’t know what he was doing!”

Harry chuckled. “Why would I want to poison him when I could save myself the trouble and just let him die on his own? Tell me, why would I bother otherwise?!”

“You seek to take his place as champion!” The Domina told him, her pale face wild.

“Domina, apologies, but he stands a champion no longer. Spartacus took his place, not me. So if I intended to take the place as champion of this ludus, it would be Spartacus I would have to kill. I intend only to help a friend, I do not seek to kill him.”

“The boy speaks the truth, Lucretia. Spartacus is the champion of Capua.” Batiatus insisted. “Harian, do you know what you are doing?”

“Yes, Dominus.” He said with a surety that demanded anyone say otherwise. “In my country we took children to learn as such from the knee. I was but four years old. I have had ten years to train to this purpose. I know what I’m doing.” He lied easily. Harry had realised that he was getting better at lying the more he stayed here, but he figured that it was due to his survivalism instincts. The Romans could _not_ know that he had magic.

Harry scooped the green paste into a wooden cup of water, which he’d boiled and then let cool.

“What is that?” The medicus demanded, trying to get a closer look as Harry stirred it.

“Our countries had differing methods of healing, it seems. Perhaps Crixus will favour a method not born of Greece.”

“Where do you hail from, Harian?” Batiatus asked him then, curiously. “I have never thought to ask.”

“Britannia, Dominus.” He said, as he poured the potion into Crixus’ whimpering mouth, rubbing his neck to force him to swallow.

“Britannia?” Lucretia breathed in abject horror. “A savage, uncultured land of unwashed, barbaric druids!”

Harry looked up at her. “Barbaric druids who know how to heal the worst of injuries, Domina.”

Crixus choked on the potion and Harry eased up slightly.

“You’ve poisoned him!” Domina accused immediately.

“I merely tipped too much into his mouth at once.” Harry replied calmly, rubbing the throat more vigorously before he started pouring again. “He is not so good at swallowing as I had hoped.”

Harry let the innuendo lie, cursing himself for not thinking his words through. Barca would have laughed…all of his brothers would have laughed uproariously, but no one in the room so much as sniggered.

Crixus lay still once it was finished and Harry placed the cup to the side. He checked on each wound, just so that he could lay his hands on Crixus and he saw that he was in a much better place than he had once been. Another few days and he would be stronger, and the wounds would now hold together easily.

Crixus grunted and opened his fevered eyes.

“Hello there, sleepy.” Harry teased. “Did you miss me?”

Crixus just groaned. “Fuck off.” He grunted in a whisper.

“Crixus?” Lucretia said breathily, leaning over.

“Domina.” He said weakly.

“Harian has claimed to have healed you, do you feel better?” Dominus asked him.

“You have?” Crixus asked him, not being able to move his head, but flicking his eyes up to look at him.

Harry nodded with a smile. “I couldn’t let you die, who else offers me such amusement.”

Crixus chuckled. “Gratitude, tiny. I feel…better. The pain has gone.”

“That was the herbs I just gave you. The pain will return, but in the meantime, rest and regain strength. With absence of pain, you should sleep for a long while, which will help you recover faster. You’ll be back on the sands with your brothers soon enough, Crixus, we miss you.”

Harry petted his forehead and passed along even more energy and he watched as Crixus understood what was happening.

“Gratitude.” He grunted again as his eyes closed once more and he drifted off to sleep.

Harry stood back and he bit his lip, looking at the floor.

“It seems you do work miracles, Harian. Stay here a while, you are exempt from training. See that Crixus returns to his former self.” Dominus ordered.

“Yes, Dominus.” Harry said, relieved that he would be allowed to stay and heal Crixus. “I may have need of more herbs that aren’t to be found here. I don’t even know if they grow in this land, but they are the ones I know.”

“I will see to it that such herbs are to be provided, if I can. Medicus will assist you.”

Harry knew that that wouldn’t go down well, but Harry truly wasn’t seeking to take the man’s job. He just knew that he could help Crixus with his magic. He refused to allow the man to die just to save another man’s pride, or from fear of incurring jealousy, or hiding his talents. Crixus didn’t deserve to die for that.

Harry made a quick escape to find Barca, to tell him that Crixus had awoken for a small while.

“How is Crixus?” Rhaskos demanded before Harry reached Barca. It gained the attention of all the men.

“He is doing better.” Harry replied loudly, so all of them could hear. “He awoke for a short time, absent pain. He spoke several words, but now he is resting again. I am to oversee him as he recovers.”

“You, and not medicus?”

“My method of healing seems to suit Crixus better, and he is responding more to it than what medicus could do.”

“Are you leaving us to become our new medicus, brother?” Pollux asked him, grinning.

Harry laughed. “Fuck no! Do you think I wish to stitch up you filthy animals all day? No, I just thought that as medicus can do no more for Crixus, that I should see if my methods help, and they do. I promise if any of you are ever dying and medicus can do no more for you, that I will try the Britannic way of healing to see if it gains results, otherwise I still wish to fight on the sands with you all.”

His brothers all cheered and Harry was able to go and sit next to Barca. He kissed Pietros gently, then tugged Barca into a kiss.

“Is he truly getting better?” Barca asked. “Is your… _ability_ , helping him?” 

“Vastly.” Harry nodded. “Already his skin knits back together and his wounds heal from the inside out. I estimate that he will be back on his feet within a few days. Though he will not have the strength to train as before. That will come a few days later. I will have him back to full strength and back to himself within a week.”

Barca nodded, happily reassured.

“Have you spoken to Dominus as per your wish for freedom?”

“I have no tongue for negotiations.” Barca sighed. “I will, however, break words with him when I can. With returns from Ashur, I can buy freedom for Pietros and I.”

Harry grimaced again at the reminder. “Has Ashur paid yet?”

“No. I will make sure he does.”

Harry sighed. “Enjoy yourselves tonight, Spartacus is throwing us a party. I think I will steer clear of such things. I have no taste for wine or women and I fear the sight would sicken me. I will stay and watch over Crixus, so that our friend is not lonely as he recovers.”

“You are still such a boy.” Barca laughed, pulling him onto his lap and kissing him.

“Forgive me for not wanting to see my brothers engaged in…in _that_ with a bunch of whores.” Harry sniffed.

Both Barca and Pietros laughed at him for that and Harry huffed, poking at Barca and moving over to Donar.

“Why do lovers laugh at you so, lucky amulet?” Donar grinned.

“Because I don’t want to see you dogs with your whores tonight.” Harry grinned. “I will lock myself up with Crixus and see to it that he rests and regains strength while you all enjoy the revelries.”

Donar laughed and Harry shook his head. They all saw him as a boy still, so no one questioned him not wanting to see such sights, but neither could they understand it. It wasn’t in their nature to understand such things, such ideals, and Harry understood that, so later that night, as everyone was eagerly anticipating the arrival of wine and women, Harry said his farewells to Barca and Pietros, and he went to make sure that Crixus wouldn’t be disturbed.

Of course nothing could blot out the noise. The shrieks of giggling women, the laughter and jeering of his brothers, the crashes of what sounded like tables being turned over, and the smashing of pottery, likely wine amphorae as they emptied at a rapid pace. His brothers really were happy and rowdy tonight.

It continued, long into the night and Harry knew that tomorrow would be a day of rest for everyone…no one would be in any state to train thanks to the excesses of Spartacus’ generosity. Truly, just how much wine had he even bought for his brothers? Harry thought as he heard yet another smash that could only be yet another broken amphora.

Harry hummed softly to try and blot out the noise as he tended to Crixus, pushing magic into him and checking on him now and then. Other than doing this, he was rather bored. He felt edgy, cagey, and he had the terrible feeling that something was going to go wrong. It was only this that forced Harry out into the ludus to check on his friends, being careful of where he tread, as the ground was littered with sharp pieces of terracotta. The things he saw would haunt him as it looked like a full scale orgy was going on with several men to every one woman.

Donar was in fine spirits, Varro was gambling…it was likely only the drink that made it so, but still Harry would speak to him about it on the morrow. Spartacus was up and walking, Harry saw him in passing. His heart sank as he didn’t see Barca.

“Pietros!” Harry called out when he spotted his other lover, drunk on wine and dancing happily by himself.

“Harian, you emerge into party.” He said with a wide grin.

Harry chuckled at the state of him. “Are you well?” He asked, trying to push off the feeling growing in his stomach.

“Yes, Barca speaks with Dominus at this moment to secure our freedom with aide of Ashur.”

“He is up in the villa?” Harry asked. “With Ashur as a representative?” Pietros nodded.

Harry bent in to kiss him. “Stay safe, Pietros. I will be back soon.”

He had to check that Barca was safe now that he knew Pietros was fine. He knew that Batiatus was a selfish man, but would he harm Barca for speaking of freedom, especially as, as Barca had mentioned himself, his lover was no good with words or negotiating? Then there was Ashur, a man who owed Barca a vast sum of coin. Harry cursed his stupid fuck of a lover for ever trusting Ashur.

“I need to see the Dominus.” He said rather demurely to the guard, ducking his head and hoping his submissive nature got him through the gate to the villa above. He didn’t want to use his magic if he didn’t have to, not on a Roman guard.

“He’s busy, not to be disturbed by the scum down below. Scum like you, slave.” The guard told him.

“It is about Crixus’ health. I really think he would want to be disturbed for such a matter.” Harry said back, green eyes daring the guard to say otherwise.

The guard sighed, but he opened the gate and let Harry pass. Harry all but ran up the stone stairs and to the villa above. He needed to find Barca, quickly, before things got out of hand.

Harry saw the scene he walked into unfold like a nightmare, as Ashur stabbed a knife into Barca’s neck when his lover wasn’t even looking at him. He heard Barca’s yell of pain, saw the guards come running from around a corner, and he darted forward to beat them to Barca.

“Dominus!” Harry called out, rushing to Barca, to stop him from attacking and making things worse, putting his own body between his and Ashur.

“Harian, what meaning is there for this?” Dominus demanded. “Why are you not down in the ludus?”

“I asked the guard to let me pass with news on Crixus’ health, Dominus.” Harry said, laying his hands on Barca and scouting out the wound. He was relieved to ‘see’ that the wound went down, into his shoulder, into muscles, and not into his neck and through a main vein or artery. He immediately moved to stem the flow of blood and heal the wound as Barca leaned heavily on him.

“I am busy with this treacherous fuck, or perhaps you had knowledge of this betrayal?”

“What betrayal, Dominus?” Harry asked, looking nervously to all the guards around them. He put Barca back against a wall and prepared to blast everyone away from him if needed. “I know only that Barca sought freedom for him and Pietros, that he was willing to buy such a thing with coin won in the arena.”

“So you knew?!”

“Dominus, it is not a thing of betrayal, the only man in the ludus who does not speak of such is Crixus. We all dream of winning freedom, or buying it with coin. Barca is not alone in this and if it is a betrayal, then all your men, bar one, are guilty of it. Will you kill us all?”

“Barca stands treacherous of disobeying my fucking orders!” The man yelled, spittle flying from his mouth. “I ordered him to kill all in that fucking villa and he left the boy alive!”

“Dominus, I did not.” Barca insisted, weak from his injury, but ardent. “I throttled the boy, I felt the breath leave his body with my hands around his throat.”

“Pietros says otherwise.” Ashur reminded. Harry hated him and he gave the man a look, promising pain and death. Harry would take care to kill him as painfully as he could if he had to kill everyone here to save Barca, if he could not talk his way out of this.

“Pietros is a gentle heart.” Harry spoke. “We all lie to him to save him from fretting. We lie about wounds in the arena, making them seem as nothing but a scratch, about one of the birds that died, we told him that it had merely escaped and flown away. He doesn’t understand such things. He would not understand that the deed was done on orders, Dominus. So we lie to him. A terrible thing to do, but one which saves his fretting over such things.”

“So, it was merely a lie to the boy?” Dominus asked, more calmly.

“Or he is lying to you now!” Ashur insisted.

“You would say that with the amount of coin you owe to Barca.” Harry snapped quickly, before Ashur could incite their Dominus’ anger again. The man was listening, was calming down, and that was what Harry needed. “You would do anything, say anything, to be rid of Barca and your debt to him. A man truly loyal to this house and its occupants, who has always done everything asked of him, just to get out of paying him the coin you owe to him.”

“What coin?” Dominus demanded.

“Barca, and many others, bet on the Theokoles fight, Dominus. Barca bet that the men of this ludus, who are trained so well, who fight with such honour, would best Theokoles. Ashur disagreed and offered a wager, as he often does, with odds of a thousand to one against Crixus and Spartacus. With their win Ashur owes a substantial sum to Barca and the only way he can see to remove such staggering debt is to accuse Barca of betrayal when none has occurred. Barca is a loyal man to this house. His only wish is to buy his freedom. His time is passed, Dominus. He is getting older and the crowds all know him, but is he a thing to marvel at anymore? No. They know him too well, he offers blood, but no spectacle, they already know that he will win, it offers them no fun when they know his opponent will lose. It is Spartacus and Crixus who draw the crowds. The Beast of Carthage is old news. Give the men some hope for buying their freedom, or why should they bother to fight at all? It’s all that keeps some men fighting, Dominus, the hope of gaining their freedom, either by getting coin or winning the rudis. Let them see that they can actually achieve it by granting Barca freedom for coin and many men will redouble their efforts to fight.”

“Doctore mentioned something similar a while back. That the men seemed to have no incentive. Do you truly believe this would work?” Dominus asked consideringly.

“Yes, freedom is all the incentive some men need, even if they never achieve it for themselves, to see it happen is enough.”

“He still betrayed your orders!” Ashur insisted desperately.

“Shut up, Asher.” Harry commanded. “You would say anything to see Barca and your debts removed. No betrayal has taken place, if Barca says he killed the boy then he did. Pietros would have no knowledge of such because his gentle heart was spared such details.”

Harry watched his Dominus with intent eyes, watching the man as he rubbed his face and gripped his own chin. The man who held Barca’s fate in his hands.

“Even now the magistrate Calavius rides to fetch the boy from the roadside where he was spotted! If the boy lives he will implicate Barca as the attacker and that will lead back to me! What do you propose I do about this, Harian?!”

“I believe Barca, if the boy is dead, then he is dead, Dominus. But if you need insurance while boy’s body is found in ruined villa, have us put on the balcony of your villa.”

“For what purpose?” The man raged, his anger making a reappearance.

“If the magistrate brings the boy to implicate his family’s attacker, you have a guard shove Barca over the cliff to be rid of him before the men are searched. He would not be found here, he could not be implicated by surviving boy and could not be linked to you. If boy’s body is found, then you will know that no disobedience was committed and that this is all a misunderstanding born of Ashur’s need to be rid of his debt.”

“Do you believe that, if Barca has remained loyal, that freeing him would settle the men and have them fighting like gods?”

Harry lifted his head proudly. “All they need is an incentive, Dominus. Freedom is the biggest incentive you have to use, if they see Barca walk free, they will strive for it themselves and you will truly have a ludus of gods to lay claim to. Many are just going through the motions because they have to, they are resigned to dying here, with no hope. If they are shown that such a thing is possible, if they are given hope…”

“They will no longer go through the motions but truly fight.” Batiatus finished, his face lighting up with realisation.

Hammering on the door startled them.

“Out onto the balcony!” Batiatus ordered. “And pray that you have told things truly, Barca! Hurry!”

Harry helped Barca out onto the balcony with several guards. Harry eased Barca down and stood guard over him, daring any of the Romans to come near them.

“Harian, I did not see the danger.” Barca said weakly.

“I told you not to trust Ashur!” Harry hissed. “I warned you again and again! I told you never to bet with him again, now look what it might have led to! What would Pietros and I do without you?! If you were killed in such a way because Ashur owes you coin? He tried to have you killed tonight, Barca!”

“Gratitude for saving my life.” Barca said, a hand over the injury in his shoulder.

Harry deflated and sat next to him, laying a hand over his shoulder and feeding magic into it, speeding up the healing of the wound to prevent infection.

“Of course I saved you, I love you. Did you speak truly? Was such a thing a lie to save Pietros?”

“I could not have him look at me like a monster. His face as he found the cloak I wore when I killed Ovidius and his family, he was disgusted.” Barca said sadly. “I lied to him to wipe away such a look from him, so he would not look at me in such a way as he saw a killer of children.”

Harry sighed. “I told you, when you were ordered to fuck me that first time, that such lies only cause a wedge, they cause trouble. How do you think he will feel now, knowing that the lies you told him, that he repeated in all innocence, could have led to your death? He will be devastated that he caused you such harm, and angry that such lies caused it. Neither of us think you a monster, you are a tool to be used by someone else’s will. He might not have liked what you were ordered to do, but he would not take it out on you. He knows you, the real you, how gentle you are with us and the birds, how softly you touch us, how sweet your kisses are. He knows who you really are…Barca the man, and not the Beast of Carthage you have had to become to satisfy orders of others.”

“I should have asked you to negotiate terms of freedom, you have a way of making others listen to you. I laughed once as you made mention of it, but now I see the truth of words spoken, you can get others to do as you wish. I just did not want to rub salt in wound, as we are leaving and you remain.”

Harry smiled softly. “You have served your time, Barca. You have paid for it in blood, pain, and misery. I do not begrudge you and Pietros your freedom, just know that I will find you one day and come calling. Remember I want that sweet goat named after me! I will be upset if I find you without that goat.”

Barca smiled then, but he had tears in his eyes. “I almost ruined everything, just for sake of wager with Ashur. No more gambling, no more wagers. Where would it leave Pietros?”

“If I had not been here? He would have been abused by the other men, perhaps to his death as the boy before him was. He would not have survived without you. Perhaps even if I had been here, but not come to speak to Dominus about Crixus, perhaps I might not have been enough. He loves you, Barca, so much, with all of his heart. Your death would destroy him. Even if I did look out for him and stop anything that happened with the help of Spartacus, Varro, and Crixus once he’s healed, he would never have been the same.”

Barca ducked his head and sighed. “I was a fool, loose with wine and riding the high of thoughts of freedom. I forgot what was most important in all of this…keeping Pietros safe.”

“With such lies you condemn the both of you. Stop lying to spare his heart, Barca. He’s a man now, he can take it, but these lies, these huge lies, are going to kill you both. With luck that now you will be freed there will no longer be need of them.”

“I wish that too.” Barca said softly.

Batiatus came striding out onto the balcony, Ashur was nowhere in sight.

“It seems the gods favour you this night. No boy was found on the road. The body of Ovidius’ son was found in the ruins of the villa.”

“I swore to you, Dominus, I killed the boy.” Barca said imploringly. “I did as ordered, as always.”

“It seems that you tell the truth of things, Barca. Both of you, return to the ludus, we will speak in the morning, when tempers have cooled.”

“Thank you, Dominus. As for the news on Crixus I was bringing you, his fever broke tonight. He woke and he was complaining that I would not allow him to sit up. I think in a few days he will be upright, a few days after that, he should be back on the sands.”

“Joyous news to lighten heavy heart, Harian. I will be down in the ludus tomorrow to check on his progress. Now go, enjoy what remains of the revelries.”

Harry escorted Barca back down to the ludus and the both of them breathed easier. They shared a look and Harry shook his head.

“The fear of what has just happened has drained me. I think I would like to take you and Pietros to bed and just hold you both. I put Crixus back to sleep, he will be well until morning.”

“You will get no argument from me, let us collect Pietros from drowning in wine.” Barca said with an exhausted smile.

“He was dancing the last I saw him.” Harry chuckled. “On his own, to music only he could hear.”

They rounded a corner and Harry yelled out and tucked his head into Barca, hiding his face from the view of a woman with her head between a brother’s legs, while another held her hips and thrust into her. A third had been fondling her breasts.

“Brothers, carry on enjoying yourselves, young boy will be in bed shortly.” Barca said tiredly, putting up a front to keep away questions. His hand was still covering his wound.

“Pass him here, we will teach him the ways around a woman.” Liscus jested.

“No! Fuck the gods, no!” Harry cried out and he hurried off. He heard the others laughing, the woman moaning, and he shivered in revulsion.

He entered the room and he found Pietros still drinking, still dancing. He was soaking wet.

“Barca is right, you are going to drown in wine if you carry on.” He laughed.

“Where is Barca, I am getting worried.”

“Worry not, he is just behind me, Pietros. We wish to go to bed, will you come?”

“Of course!” Pietros said happily, his grin widening as Barca turned up behind Harry. “Barca! You…you’re hurt.” He said in horror as his eyes clocked the blood on Barca’s fingers, still holding his wound.

“A mark of treachery, and no need for you to fret. Come.” Barca said, holding his other hand out. Pietros took his hand and reached out for Harry.

Harry went willingly. It was quieter out on the sands, in the cell that they now shared.

“How were you harmed?”

“A misunderstanding, Pietros. Stemming from a lie that I told you.” Barca said, sitting down on the bed. “A lie that could have ruined all.”

Harry moved to him and he checked the damage, pouring in healing magic to seal the injury. Harry would refuse to allow Barca to leave the ludus while he had an open wound.

“A lie? What misunderstanding, Barca?”

“I did kill Ovidius’ son. I lied to you to spare your soft heart.”

“But…but Dominus said that…that he never gave the order, that maybe you had just overstepped. I…I told him that you had set the boy free on the road.”

“Therein lies my injury.” Barca sighed heavily. “Dominus had ordered Ovidius and his family killed, and he did order me to kill the boy too.”

“He…he tricked me into saying as such to harm you.” Pietros said, his eyes filling up with tears.

“A thing he could not have done if Barca had not lied to you about it in the first place, if Ashur had not been listening in the shadows like a snake.” Harry said, probing the wound which was sealing itself together even as he watched.

“Why did you lie to me?”

“I saw your face when you’d thought I’d killed a child. I could not bear it.” Barca admitted bitterly. “I would never have killed a child, or anyone, if it had been my choice, but…”

“It was not your choice!” Pietros burst out. “It was ordered from you, you would _never_ have done it otherwise! Now…now you’ve been hurt.” The boy sobbed. “Because of me.”

Barca was on his feet in an instant and he held Pietros tight. “Because of myself and my lies to you. If I had told you the truth, this wouldn’t have happened and I would not have been hurt by Ashur.”

“Ashur did this?” Pietros demanded furiously.

“I will see to Ashur.” Harry said. “He may well find himself dead tomorrow. Or tonight if he shows his face down here again.”

“You will get into trouble with Dominus!” Pietros fretted.

“There will be no wound on him. I am the apprentice to a healer. I can kill without leaving a mark, with no sign of poison or foul play. Leave him to me and no one will be blamed for his death.”

“Dominus will suspect us.” Barca said. “After tonight it would be expected…”

“I will do it with eyes upon us, no one could say we had part in it. I will make it painful too. Very, very painful.”

“Let us not speak of such things tonight, we need to rest.”

Harry didn’t disagree and he pulled back his magic slowly and carefully before he took his hands away and he climbed onto the bed and laid down. Tomorrow was going to be a busy day, and a sad one as they said goodbye to one another, for how long, none of them knew.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ X

Things were quiet the next morning. Spartacus was in such high spirits as his wife, Sura, was arriving today. Harry crawled from the bed that he had shared the night with a rampant Barca and a giggly, drunk Pietros. He ached pleasantly and it made him smile.

His first call of the day was to Crixus, and Harry set his steps towards the medicus’ rooms, to find Crixus still chained down, but awake.

“Water.” He begged when Harry entered.

Harry poured a cup for him and supported him upright to help him drink.

“Would you like more?” He asked gently.

“No. I feel better today, can I be unchained?”

“No. I fear if I were to unchain you I would turn my back and find you on the sands, sword in hand.” Harry teased. “You need to rest some more, Crixus, please. I have brought you back from the brink of death, I would not see you delivered back there so soon.”

Crixus sighed. “No one comes to visit me.”

“What the fuck am I?” Harry laughed, before he sobered, thinking of the events of last night. “Barca would come, you know he would, but he is injured also. Ashur, the treacherous fuck, tried to get him killed last night.”

“What?!” Crixus demanded, trying and failing to sit up, not purely from the chains holding him down either. “I would lay eyes upon him and hear words spoken from his tongue! Then I will cripple Ashur’s other fucking leg, better than I did the first.”

“Leave Ashur to me, in your condition you are likely to injure yourself as much as him.” Harry said softly. “My abilities aren’t just for healing and passing along energy…I can cause pain and death too. Ashur will regret his bad decision tomorrow. Barca is currently abed with Pietros, we had quite a night.” He grinned.

“Spare me the details.” Crixus groaned.

Harry chuckled. “Come here, let me see how you have dealt overnight.”

Harry laid his hands on Crixus and eased his magic into him. He felt out the wounds and he started sealing them, from the inside out to avoid too much questioning.

“I feel stronger today.”

“You will. I expect another day here, on your back, then by tomorrow you’ll be up and about comfortably, just give it another few days after that to go back onto the sands, Crixus. If you push too hard you will undo all I have done to heal you and you will end up back here as limp as an old, withered cock. Do you want that?”

Crixus chuckled weakly. “No, tiny. I will follow your instruction, as I know it was only such that has kept me alive.”

“I meant what I said. I like you. I want to keep you alive. I can’t say that for a lot of people here, only maybe a handful. You, and Barca, and Pietros. Varro, Donar, Fulco, Pollux, and yes, Spartacus too. I don’t care if you don’t like him, I do.”

Harry fluttered about Crixus, checking physically on the wounds to make absolutely sure that there were no infections setting in, no redness or puffiness and absolutely no pus. There wasn’t. Every wound was clean and showed signs of good healing.

“We need to play a bad game, Crixus.”

“Give light to your meaning.” Crixus told him weakly.

Harry pressed a finger lightly against the belly wound. “Does this hurt? Any sharpness or perhaps a sting?”

“No, the pain is dull, but throbbing, like a hit with a practice sword.”

Harry nodded. “That is actually a good sign. My ability has sealed all internal wounds. We won’t be seeing your intestines for a while yet. Does this hurt?” He asked, pressing against the chest wound with gentle fingers.

Crixus inhaled a little more deeply. “It’s more painful than the first, but it is still a dull throb.”

“Are you lying to tell me what I want to hear?” Harry asked seriously, sternly.

“No.” Crixus grunted.

“Good, such a thing would ruin your recovery, I need to know which wounds to focus more on now.”

“It’s still a dull throb.” Crixus insisted. “Just worse.”

Harry nodded his understanding.

“Is it at all possible to roll onto your side for me?” Harry asked.

Crixus tried, and with help he managed it. “This hurts.” He grumbled.

“The reason why I want you to stay here for another day.” Harry insisted as he probed the back wound. “Does this hurt?”

“No. It’s better than both the others.”

“Wonderful. Ease back down, there we go, Crixus. Nice and easy.” Harry coaxed as he helped support Crixus’ body weight and let him lie back down. “Your chest wound is the worst as it is the one I focused on least. This belly wound, with your guts spilling out, was the most worrying, so that had the most attention, and I could barely get to your back wound, so I focused on that too. Leaving this one. I will focus on it today and hopefully, by nightfall, all three of these major injuries will just be nuisances you’ll barely remember.”

“Gratitude, Harian.” Crixus said, using his name instead of a nickname this time. “It would have taken weeks, if not more without you.”

Harry scoffed. “The medicus could do no more for you. You likely would have died, Crixus. But then, you are a fighter by nature, perhaps you would have survived, but it would have been weeks before you were back on the sands, maybe months, and that sort of time out of training would have ruined your reputation and you would never have been able to challenge Spartacus for the title of champion of Capua.”

“I will get the shit.” Crixus swore. “I will become the champion of Capua again.”

“That’s the right attitude.” Harry encouraged. “Just don’t expect too much too soon. You’re not going to get out onto those sands in a few days and be able to take on Theokoles again. It’s back to basics with you.”

“Basics?!” Crixus raged. “I was doing the basics when you were a mere babe at the breast!”

“I can actually see that, old man.” Harry teased. “But no, in all honesty, Crixus, you need to go back to basics to test your wounds and make sure they won’t reopen on you, as you fight. That would send you back to the beginning and this healing would start all over again. So test yourself against the palus, go through the basic moves, and make sure they won’t send you back here first.”

Crixus grunted, but he grudgingly agreed. They both looked over as a massive commotion was heard outside, on the training sands.

“Stay here.” Harry said, as if Crixus could go anywhere while chained down to the table, darting out onto the sands quickly.

The scene he saw was horrifying as Spartacus, in all his brand new, shiny armour, was cradling a heavily bloodied woman wearing a metal slave collar.

Harry darted out, past his sluggish, hungover brothers, past Dominus and Doctore, and he fell to his knees in front of the distressed pair.

“Give me room, Spartacus.” He insisted. “You can hold her, but give me room.”

Harry touched her, fed magic into her, and he found the chest wound under her ragged dress. She had been slashed, several times, in a frantic attack that had torn her from hip to hip and from belly to chest. Even he couldn’t heal that…he was only fourteen.

“I can give you some time.” He said sadly. “A little longer to say goodbye, but these injuries are too much for me to heal and she is in pain. I’m so sorry.”

Spartacus nodded jerkily and Harry set to work, keeping his hands in appropriate places, but feeding magic into her, giving her the strength to hold on just a little longer, taking as much of her pain away as he could so that she wasn’t suffering as she passed.

“Husband.” She croaked weakly and it made Spartacus smile, laughing wetly. It was almost a sob.

“I’m so sorry, Sura.” He said. “So sorry.”

“I love…love you.” She said haltingly, desperately meaning her words, but unable to get them out.

“I love you, so much.” Spartacus told her seriously.

“Dri…dri…” She choked and Harry tried to stabilise her with magic, but she was too far gone.

His bottom lip trembled and he shook his head. He moved back and stood up, giving Spartacus and his wife the chance to say goodbye in some privacy, as she slipped away. She was beyond words in her last moments, she just gazed up at Spartacus, a half smile on her lips, happy to have lain eyes on her husband one last time.

A heavy hand landed on his shoulder and he looked up at Barca through his tears. Pietros came and cuddled into his other side and Harry sniffled.

“She was too far gone.” He said. “I’m only fourteen. I couldn’t save her.”

“You did what you could.” Barca told him gently. “You gave them a little more time together, it was more than anyone else could have done. He will not hold it against you.”

Harry hoped not, he liked Spartacus. He had only been holding onto the hope for his wife’s return. Harry didn’t know what would become of him now that she was gone. He didn’t know what Spartacus was going to do now that his wife was dead.

A sniffle had them both turning to Pietros.

“Come, delicate thing.” Barca said gently. “What has happened, cannot be changed. Let us go and see to the birds. Harian, come along.”

“No.” Harry said, shaking his head. “I left Crixus abruptly. He misses his friend, Barca.” He hinted.

“A change of course then. A word with Crixus first, to lift his heart that he does still have friends.” Barca said.

“I will join you in a few moments. I need to soothe the heart of a wounded friend of another sort.” Harry sighed, stepping forward again to offer comfort to Spartacus. He would be ready for rage if it came, some men dealt with grief with anger or violence, he knew.

Spartacus did no such thing. He turned into him, hugging his belly to his face and he cried fully, openly, in his grief, such was his love for Sura.

Harry stroked his short hair, moving to stroke over his face too, and he hummed gently to him. He offered no words, no empty platitudes, for there was truly nothing for him to say, the man had lost his wife, the other half of his heart, what could possibly be said in the situation?

“Harian, how fares Crixus?” Domina asked him, calling from her place close by, looking at him through hard, blue eyes.

“Domina, Crixus is doing very well. He was awake when I attended to him this morning, he was asking when he could come back to training. He is healing well and he is now lucid as fever no longer grips him. His wounds are uninfected and clean. He grows stronger.”

“In your opinion, how long until he is back on the sands, Harian?” Dominus asked him as he overheard the topic of conversation.

“Give him time to recover, Quintus!” Lucretia said, trying and failing, in Harry’s opinion, to hide her love, or rather lust, for Crixus. It was obvious, even to him, and it sickened him as he knew that Crixus did not feel the same, yet he was forced to have sex with her, and attend her, whenever she wished. She was raping Crixus without care for his thoughts or feelings on the matter, she wanted him, so Crixus had to attend her, he had no other choice. Harry hated her, he hated them both as he turned to look impassively at Batiatus.

“Dominus, Crixus gains strength with every passing day. In my, very humble opinion, he will be up and about by tomorrow, a few more days after that and he will be back on the sands.”

“A truly miraculous recovery, aided by your fresh input on the matter. I would see you rewarded for such diligent hands and aiding in the recovery of Crixus.”

“There would be only one thing I would ask for, Dominus, and it concerns the matter discussed last night.”

“You would not include yourself in this?”

Harry looked up, proving how serious he was. “I would not.”

“I admit thoughts have weighed heavy on my mind, even keeping me from sleep.” Batiatus said softly, rubbing at his head. “I need more time to think on the matter.”

“What matter?” Domina demanded.

“A matter of no concern, do not trouble yourself with it, Lucretia. Come, we have preparations to make.”

Harry watched them go and he sighed sadly, turning back to Spartacus, who still cradled his wife’s body. It seemed that the raincloud that Spartacus had brought with the death of Theokoles was not yet ready to move on. There was more misery to be had first. He just hoped that Barca and Pietros were not a part of it.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ X 

Harry supported Crixus upright, with Barca’s help, as Spartacus laid his poor wife on the pyre. Once told of what the commotion was, Crixus had wanted to be there, in silent support of his brother. Rivals they might have been, but brother supporting brother was something that Crixus fully believed in.

Barca had explained to Crixus about his injury, and how he had almost lost his life simply by trusting Ashur’s word. Crixus had called him a stupid fuck, but had readily offered his assistance in any retribution that Barca had in mind.

Varro was standing to the side, ready to support Spartacus, who tucked back the linen that covered his wife’s face, and Harry sent a gentle wave of love to the man as he took one last look at Sura. Harry smiled gently as Spartacus sought him out, their eyes locking. Spartacus gave him a nod, and Harry repeated the caress from afar.

“It is a sad day when the innocent pay the price of life.” He said quietly. “We face death on a daily basis, we expect ourselves, our brothers, to die around us, it is the life we live, but to see it like this…laid out so starkly that even those innocent, even those not connected to our duties in the arena, can still be taken from us. How is it that those not even connected to the arena like we are die while we remain? It seems wrong, backwards.”

Neither of them answered, though Barca and Crixus both tightened their grip on him as Spartacus took the torch from Varro and set the body of his wife aflame.

The mood in the ludus was sombre. It carried on to the next day. There was no laughter, no training. Doctore had tried, but very few men responded with any vitality, they made half-hearted attacks and parries and even the form practice was more routine than anything, none of them had their hearts in it as their champion suffered. Doctore allowed them to take their midday meal early, much earlier than usual, as he couldn’t get any good fight from them.

Harry just poked at his food before he threw the entire bowl at the wall before cradling his head and crying.

“Harian! Do not waste food!” Doctore ordered sharply, but Harry sunk to lie on the table top, his shoulders shaking.

“What ails him?” Doctore asked Barca.

“He has seen death in the arena, Doctore, but never of the innocent. Never of a young woman just from bandits.”

Doctore exhaled slowly.

“He blames himself for not being able to help more.” Pietros said, rubbing a hand over Harry’s back as he cried.

“There was not even time for you to fetch herbs or medicine.” Doctore told him at hearing that. “Her wounds were too grievous, Harian. That you tried to help, and did not hesitate to do so, shows the man you are, not that she passed due to her wounds. You tried to help her, and that does make a difference.”

“I’m only fourteen. I didn’t know enough to help her.” Harry sobbed. “Maybe if I’d had more time to learn, or she had arrived sooner, or…”

“Or a hundred other things that did not happen.” Doctore said sternly. “You cannot go through your life thinking of things that could have happened. It did not happen and it cannot be changed, Harian. You didn’t hesitate to help, you did what you could and what happened, has happened. Push it from mind.”

Harry rubbed at his face and turned to kiss Pietros, then puckered his lips at Barca, who bent over the table to kiss him gently.

“I just wish I could have done more.” He said in a whisper.

“While the rest of us wish that we could have done anything at all.” Donar told him from the table behind. “Doctore is right, you tried to help, you did what you could while the rest of us…well, those who were awake, could do little else other than watch.”

“This is the fault of the men who stole her life from her.” Barca said firmly. “Not on those who tried to help, or did not know how to help.”

Harry nodded his understanding and the guilt eased slightly from his chest. He nodded again and he stood abruptly.

“I need to tend to Crixus.”

He hurried off and he heard Barca sighing heavily.

“He did believe you.” He heard Pietros say. “He just needs more time to come to terms with what happened.”

Harry bit his lip and he ducked into the medicus’ rooms and he smiled to see Crixus happily sat up with Naevia sponging him off.

“Oh, have I come at a bad time?” He teased.

“Domina asked me to tend to Crixus.” Naevia said very quickly.

“That wasn’t what I asked.” He pointed out as he moved over to join them, using gentle fingers to probe at the harsh, rather vulgar stitching.

Crixus made a pained noise and Harry shushed him.

“You pain him.” Naevia said accusingly.

“I’m fine.” Crixus rebutted immediately.

“I need to check that the skin is healing…Naevia, is it? The only way to do so is by causing a little pain to check for infection.”

“Is there any sign?” Naevia asked worriedly.

“None. The skin is cool to the touch, it is not red, or puffy, or leaking. I’d say that you’re healing well, Crixus.”

“I can still go on the sands tomorrow?” He asked.

Harry chuckled. “Yes, but remember that it is for basics only. If you rip a single one of these stitches, you’ll find your arse back here, chained down to a table while I fix the damage you’ve done in your eager foolishness.”

“Understood.” Crixus grunted unhappily.

“I know you don’t like it.” Harry said kindly. “But if you don’t heed my caution then you’ll do more harm, Crixus. I’m not doing this as punishment, or to be cruel. I don’t want to stop you from being on the sands, but you were seriously injured, almost fatally so, it will take some more time.”

“I will wait.” Crixus said, acting as if the words were paramount to having his teeth pulled.

“Damn fucking right you will.” Harry grinned. “You don’t get to do anything until I sign off on it, for the moment I am your medicus and you will do as I say.”

Crixus groaned and slouched back. Harry laughed and he finished probing the rest of Crixus wounds.

“Bad game time, Crixus.” Harry said apologetically.

“Bad game time, what does this mean?” Naevia asked.

“It’s nothing, Naevia.” Crixus said, sitting back upright. “What am I to do?”

“Tell me if anything hurts.” Harry said as he lightly took Crixus’ right wrist and pulled his arm into the air and then bending it back behind his head. “Anything?”

“No.” Crixus said and he sounded so pleased that he wasn’t in pain that Harry had to smile.

Harry let go of the one wrist and moved to the left one, this was the one he knew would give Crixus trouble, because of the chest wound, so he went slowly, taking care to note Crixus’ facial expressions.

“Stop!” Crixus demanded as Harry pulled his arm slowly behind his head.

“Is it pain, or do you feel a tightness, or any pulling?” Harry asked calmly as he held Crixus arm where it was.

“Pulling.”

Harry eased the arm back up and let Crixus bring it down. He probed the stitched chest wound for tears or bleeding.

“I believe it’s just the damaged muscle. It hasn’t fully healed, so you’ll have limited swing with the right arm. You’ll be able to jab and thrust, perhaps swing from one direction only, but you cannot swing fully across your body, the muscle will tear. Stand up for me.”

Crixus was wearing a blank expression as he did what was asked and Harry closed his eyes for a moment. If Crixus had truly believed that such a short amount of time would have fully healed him and his muscles then he was a fool. Even magic couldn’t heal him that quickly.

“Use the bed and bend back for me.” He said, moving to the one side and watching as Crixus did as was asked. He probed the belly wound critically, with small, delicate fingers. “Can you keep yourself there, Crixus?”

“No.” Crixus said, his voice very strained.

Harry helped him to ease back upright. “So limited flexibility too.”

Crixus looked murderous.

“Calm yourself, you’re still healing.” Harry told him. “You will gain all mobility and flexibility in a few days. You still have your fucking stitching in, Crixus, did you truly expect anything different?”

Crixus said nothing, but he ducked his head regardless. Harry exhaled through his nose.

“Bend forward. Touch the floor if you can, otherwise as far down as you can manage.”

As far down as Crixus could go was his knees and Harry probed the back wound.

“Any pain, pulling or tightness?”

“No.”

“Stand back up.” Harry encouraged. “The back wound is the most healed. I’m going to take out the stitching today and I’ll keep an eye on it, but it is the front wounds that concern me the most.”

Harry spent the next few hours meticulously unpicking all the stitches from Crixus’ back and pulling them free of his skin while Naevia distracted him at the front.

“There you are, Harian.” Pietros said, coming into the room. “You’ve missed the evening meal. I brought bowl for both you and Crixus.”

“Gratitude, Pietros.” Harry said, giving his lover a smile over Crixus’ shoulder. Crixus said nothing until Harry jabbed a finger into his neck.

“Gratitude.” He grunted tiredly.

“Eat while I do this.” Harry said, even as he pulled another thread out. “I want you to sleep as soon as I’m done.”

“You need to eat too. You missed the noon meal.” Pietros fretted.

Harry smiled at him. “I will eat once I am done, Pietros, I promise.”

“How did you miss the noon meal? Did Barca take you back to his cell?” Crixus teased.

Harry’s smile dropped as he thought back to that morning.

“No. I got upset that I couldn’t help more with Sura, I tried my best, but her wounds were too grievous, and I was too young to help. So I acted as a child and had a tantrum, throwing my food at the wall.”

“You are still half a boy.” Crixus said gently. “Your brothers excuse you of such behaviour because of it. As for Spartacus’ woman, you did what you could, you tried to save her, it is no fault of yours that she was too far gone. I am living proof that you are good at what you do. I am only alive right now because of you.”

Harry sighed and wrapped his arms around Crixus’ neck in a hug and he turned to kiss his cheek.

“Gratitude.” Harry said softly. “I still carry some guilt over not being able to do more for Sura. For Spartacus, my brother. I will need some more time to come to terms with what happened.”

“In the meantime, eat.” Pietros insisted. “I will not leave until you have done so.”

Harry smiled as Pietros sat beside him and held out the spoon of porridge. Harry shook his head but he ate as he worked. Naevia was feeding Crixus with a smile, Harry got the impression that she was enjoying herself.

“Once again I find you feeding Harian like a babe.” Barca teased as he came wandering in. “Only this time you have company.”

“Fuck off, pig shit.” Crixus said with a grin.

Barca laughed genially, and he took a seat on the bed in front of Crixus, watching as Pietros fed Harry and Naevia fed Crixus.

“Can you babes not feed yourselves?”

“My hands are busy and Pietros would not leave me to miss another meal.” Harry said distractedly as he plucked out a cut thread with a pair of crude tweezers, then turned his head to allow Pietros to prod the spoon into his mouth.

“His dutiful hands cause pain.” Crixus grunted and he flinched yet again as another thread was carefully cut, and scissors were exchanged for tweezers, and the thread was gently pulled out of his skin.

“My dutiful hands have kept you alive.” Harry said, accepting more porridge, chewing and swallowing.

“Gratitude for it, but they still cause pain.” Crixus insisted, between spoonfuls of his own porridge.

“They cause what they need to, to see you back on the sands as quickly as possible.” Harry said.

“How long now?” Barca asked, rubbing his own shoulder.

“You leave that wound alone!” Harry chastised. “It’ll only take a few more days before Crixus graces us with his body on the sands. Perhaps that will spurn our brothers to fighting.”

“What is your meaning?” Crixus asked.

“Since Spartacus burnt his wife, a sombre mood has fallen over the ludus. The men don’t want to fight, they don’t play or laugh. All the life has been sucked from them.” Barca explained.

“Then perhaps glorious return will see them set back to purpose.” Crixus said determinedly.

“Perhaps.” Harry said, then sighed and sat back, stretching. “There, that was the last one. All stitching is gone from your back and it’ll be better very soon.”

“What of those at his front?” Barca asked as Harry went to wash his hands in water.

“They cannot yet be free of stitching.” Harry said. “But soon. I’m going to insist that Crixus starts on basics, just to ease him back into training, then when I remove the last stitch, then he can go back to full training.”

“And it will be a glorious day.” Barca insisted.

Harry took the bowl from Pietros with a smile and he sat next to him, he ate quickly, furiously while the porridge was still a little warm, and not quite a congealed mess.

“Can I at least darken the training area on the morrow?” Crixus asked.

Harry considered it and he decided that if he was going to keep Crixus on side, then he needed to give him a little bit of leeway.

“Okay, but as long as you sit in the eating area and you do not pick up a sword.” Harry warned. “The moment I see you with sword in hand I’ll see you belted back to the table. Of course, there’s nothing to stop you from shouting abuse at your brothers, perhaps that will get them back to training.”

“What of your own training?” Crixus asked him. “You have not mentioned how you fare on the sands.”

“I haven’t been training. Dominus told me to forget my training in favour of your healing.”

“You can’t stop training!” Crixus exploded. “You need every moment you can get!”

“It is already done, Crixus.”

“Are there games set?”

Harry shared a look with Barca.

“There are.” Crixus growled. “Are you posted?”

Harry sighed, but knowing that he couldn’t keep this from Crixus for long, he nodded. “I am. The match before the primus.”

“You stupid fuck, you need to train, now!”

“I was doing as ordered.” Harry said gently. “I will be fine, as always.”

“Do you fight, Barca?”

“No. I was not given a fight.” Barca said. “I am wounded also.”

“Let me check on that.” Harry said, putting his empty bowl on a table and he went to check on the wound in Barca’s shoulder. It was healing very well, but it too would need a few more days to heal fully.

“Fuck Ashur.” Crixus snarled.

“I will deal with the shit.” Harry insisted. “No one will ever know what happened. Nothing can link to any of us.”

He saw Naevia looking at him and he met her gaze unwaveringly.

“I am no innocent little boy, Naevia. Not anymore.” He said. “Ashur needs to pay for what he did. He tried to have Barca killed, and Barca is one of us. Ashur needs to die for the shit that he has pulled, before he tries to get any more of us killed.”

“But how will you do such a thing? Dominus, Doctore?”

“Oh, I won’t even need to touch the filth, Naevia. Don’t fret about that. He knows it’s coming too, that’s what makes it all the sweeter.”

“He knows?” Pietros questioned. “How?”

Harry gave a rather creepy smile. “He hasn’t been down to the ludus since that night. He knows exactly what I’m going to do to him. I told him he would never get a third strike, trying to get Barca killed was his third. The next time I see him, he will not be walking away, and he knows it. Soon he will be ordered to grace us with his presence, and I will get my chance.”

“Do you not fear discovery?” Naevia asked.

Harry giggled. “Naevia, dearest, no one will ever understand what will happen, they will not even think to look for a culprit, as there will not be one.”

They all fell silent, trying to imagine murdering someone without detection, but Harry had enough hate for Ashur, enough loathing, especially now that he had harmed Barca and had tried to see him dead, that he was sure he could do it. He was sure that he could, at the very least, injure him gravely enough that he would then die from his injuries. All he needed was one opportunity, and that opportunity would come, it was only inevitable.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ X

In the days that followed Barca’s wound healed up nicely, Crixus was back on the training sands, sparring gently with the palus and Harry patiently waited for his opportunity to take out Ashur.

Spartacus became a man possessed and he often went to the highest of gladiatorial games by himself, just to appear in the primus. Harry had accompanied him a few times, to appear in the match before the primus, always against two opponents, and once again he used his magic to see himself safe and unharmed. Barca and Pietros were always worried, and always whisked him straight off to their shared cell when he and Spartacus came back to the ludus as victors, firstly to check for injuries, and then to wear him out even further with some very passionate love making and post-coital cuddling.

Since the loss of his wife, Spartacus was no longer holding back in the arena and Harry watched sadly as he dispatched his opponents easily. He no longer had a purpose, except to be the champion of Capua, it was almost like he was no longer a man. It made Harry feel sad and he spent more time with Spartacus and Varro, and he made sure to send a wave of soothing love to Spartacus twice daily, just so that he never forgot what it felt like, even if it was a different sort of love to that which Sura had offered him.

After numerous weeks and more numerous games, all victories for the house of Batiatus, with Spartacus at the helm, Crixus was once again in fit form and he was free of his stitching and free to train normally, Harry’s magic had healed him fully, to the point where it was barely remembered that he had ever been injured as he challenged at the heels of Spartacus for the title of champion. Harry was happy to slip from his place as second and down into third. Barca wasn’t even trying anymore, as it seemed that Batiatus was actually going to take Harry’s advice and free him and Pietros. They had been having talks, absent Ashur, who seemed to have disappeared lately. Barca had told him that the talks were going well and that he would only need to appear in one last games, hand over the agreed on price for himself and Pietros, and then they would be free.

Then came some news that had all their excitement ramping up…a batch of new recruits were arriving later that day. Dominus and Doctore had already set out to market before the sun was up, to get first looks at those being displayed. Harry well remembered his own showing in Capua’s market square and he shivered.

“Are you cold, tiny?” Crixus asked.

Barca immediately looked him over.

“No, I am well. Just…with the new recruits arriving, I was remembering my own showing, how scared I was to be caught by slavers and thrown in the back of a cart, how I was chained up with the women first, then Solonius paid to have me moved to the warrior line. I remember how everyone looked at me…” He shivered again.

“A thing we are most grateful for.” Barca insisted. “You are a true warrior at heart. A true gladiator. We are happy to have you.”

Harry grinned. “That was not always the case though, was it?” He teased.

“You have proven yourself a hundred fold since then.” Spartacus told him as he passed, patting his shoulder gently. “No one comes here a gladiator. They have to be moulded. I was little better than you at the start, though at least I had actually had cause to lift sword and shield before my arrival.”

Harry huffed and turned his back on the man, pretending to sulk. It made Pietros chuckle.

“Smile, tiny.” Donar called out. “We have all taught you to use sword and shield now. You will best all the new recruits and I will laugh as you do so.”

“Oh, that’s right. They won’t know about my history in the arena, how I’ve actually survived two on one matches. They’re all going to look at me and underestimate me. This is going to be fun.” He giggled.

Crixus clapped him on the back. “That’s the spirit. They will learn through misery and pain, they will not get reprieve until they bear our mark.”

“If they survive that far.” Barca added viciously.

“I remember.” Harry said. “I hated you all. Oh, not you Pietros, you were wonderful from the start, but the rest of you stupid fucks, I hated. But I understand a little now why you were so hard on the recruits. Not the food thing, though. People need to eat, and with the lack of sleep, the lack of food is too much. You almost starved me to death.”

“You defied that rule more times than I can remember anyone ever getting away with before.” Crixus growled.

Harry grinned. “You all loved me so much, even back then.” His voice broke during his sentence and he cleared his throat. “Shit.” He cursed, rubbing his throat.

“You get closer to becoming a man every day, tiny.” Barca told him proudly.

“No, I think that was the damage your cock did last night.” Harry said seriously, clearing his throat twice more as his brothers laughed uproariously around him. He giggled and it came out normal.

Pietros kissed him suddenly, out of the blue and Harry wrapped his arms around him to hold him close as their kisses became more impassioned. They gave everyone a good show as their tongues slid and danced together.

The world slipped away, they were all but fucking there and then as bodies pressed together and hands gripped and pulled.

“Gain control of your boys!” Crixus demanded of Barca, who was just watching them with a smile on his face.

“Harian is beyond controlling.” Barca answered. “It is easier to just allow him to do as he pleases.”

The two of them had to break apart to gasp in much needed air, but they grinned to one another all the same.

“I’m going to miss you so much.” Pietros said, his eyes welling up.

Harry touched him gently, reaching up to slide his fingers into tight, curly hair.

“I will find you.” He swore seriously. He meant it too. He’d been working on a tracking spell. He’d placed one on Barca and one on Pietros. He would find them one day…if he lived. “I want you both to enjoy yourselves, to enjoy your lives together, and your freedom without worry for me. I want that fucking goat, though!”

“What goat?” Crixus asked.

“That is of no concern of yours. They both know what the goat means, I want my goat.”

Pietros laughed and brushed his eyes. “I love you.”

“I love you too, dearest.” Harry insisted, kissing him again, softer this time, gentler. “You just look after Barca, we both know he’s utterly useless without us.” He stage whispered.

Pietros laughed again and hugged him tight.

“Everything will be fine, my love. Everything will work out. It will be enough for me to know that Barca will be looking after you, that you’ll be together, away from this place…with my fucking goat.”

The gates opened suddenly and then the jeering and taunting started. Harry looked over as six new, ragged recruits were brought in to the ludus and onto the sands.

Harry watched them curiously, having not gotten any of this treatment, or any of Doctore’s welcoming speech, as he had been brought in later, on his own.

Harry stood between Barca and Crixus, Pietros was just behind him, doing what he always did, trying not to draw any attention to himself as he stayed in Barca’s shadow. Harry could see the new recruits staring at him, in his tiny subligaria, his tiny sandals and the wide belt that had had to be specially made for his slim hips. He knew what they saw, exactly what his brothers had seen when he’d first walked onto the sands, but he was a gladiator now. He could hold his own and with a little more magic than he usually used during training bouts, he could probably make the recruits look rather stupid.

“What is beneath your feet?” Doctore demanded of the lined up recruits.

One of the stupid recruits pulled a face. “Sand.” He said easily.

Harry’s brothers all laughed, loudly, forcedly, as it was expected of them.

“Fucking idiot.” The man next to the one who had spoken hissed at him, just loudly enough for Harry to hear him, and read the words on his lips.

“Spartacus! What is beneath your feet?” Doctore demanded of their champion, who stepped forward unhesitantly.

“Sacred ground, Doctore.” Spartacus said. “Watered with the tears of blood.”

“Your tears!” Doctore roared at the recruits. “Your blood! Your pathetic lives forged into something of worth! Listen, learn, and perhaps live as gladiators. Now attend to your master.”

Harry blotted out the speech of their Dominus in favour of studying the new recruits for weaknesses or maybe even defects. His brothers laughed and he looked around for what he had missed.

“They’ve been told to remove their loincloths for inspection.” Barca bent down to tell him, a vicious smirk on his face.

“Oh, by the gods, no.” Harry said turning slightly. “Pietros, avert your delicate eyes.”

Crixus and Barca both laughed, louder than their other jeering brothers, and it came across as mocking the ‘size’ of the newly bared recruits. The six men all glared at them, even the laughing Harry between the two men, but he was laughing at his own joke, they were all laughing at the joke.

“Barca. Crixus. Harian. Is there a problem?” Doctore asked mildly.

Barca covered Harry’s eyes with his large hands.

“We did not think it appropriate to display such views to the baby of house Batiatus, Doctore.” Crixus answered with a smirk.

Their brothers all laughed and jeered at Harry for the blush on his cheeks, but he didn’t care. He laughed with them and peeled Barca’s hands from his eyes.

“Get dressed.” Doctore ordered them. “The sight of you offends our youngest gladiator.”

One man on the end scoffed loudly, obviously, even as he re-tied his loincloth.

“Oh, what is this? You take exception to him being called a gladiator?” Doctore demanded.

Harry got a nasty look and he raised his eyebrows. He looked to Barca and Crixus to see if they had seen. From the looks on their faces, they had. As had Donar, who took a step forward.

“He is our brother! Look at him in such a manner again and I will happily remove your eyes!”

“Peace, Donar.” Harry said, in his high, boyish voice. “If he has a problem with me, let us sort it out without interference.”

“A demonstration, for our new recruits, then.” Doctore said. “Those who would doubt the titans of house Batiatus. Harian, attend.”

His brothers all cheered, he got two slaps on the back from Barca and Crixus, and Harry happily stepped forward, his magic wrapped around him, ready to be used immediately on a minute instinct.

“If you believe yourself capable of defeating Harian, step forward.” Doctore spat at the recruit on the end. “Pietros, swords.”

Pietros ran to the box and he took out two swords, quickly, and he ran to hand the one wooden sword to Doctore, then came to give him one. Harry smiled at him.

“Good luck.” Pietros told him.

“Luck won’t have anything to do with it, dearest.” Harry whispered back.

“Attend to the demonstration, see how a true gladiator of the house of Batiatus conducts himself. Begin.”

The new recruit rushed at him, trying to take him unawares, and to make the fight as quick and as humiliating as possible for Harry. His magic hummed a warning, but Harry didn’t need it, he had been watching, he had seen that move coming a mile off, he was a gladiator now, and he had learned and trained, and he could easily fend off a raw recruit. Harry side stepped the brainless charge easily and swung his sword so hard into the man’s stomach that he’d probably shit blood for the next few days.

The recruit gasped for air, but he got back to his feet, turning to face him, with the ringing of laughter in his ears.

He was more cautious now, and when it looked like he wasn’t going to move, Harry launched an attack series of his own. He charged forward, dropped to his knees to allow the frantic, unskilled swing over his head, then surged upwards to take the man in the face with the blocky, wooden hilt of his practice sword, sending his head snapping back. Harry darted to the left, swung overhead, and brought the edge of the blade smashing down into the exposed throat of the recruit, whose eyes bulged in his head, his face rapidly going from red, to purple, to blue as he hit the sand and tried to breathe.

“Enough. Point well made, Harian. Stand back with your brothers.”

Harry turned the sword inwards and he handed it back to Pietros, before he sauntered back to Barca and Crixus, who greeted him as if he’d just won a victory in the arena instead of merely chastising a cocky new recruit.

Harry watched as Doctore kicked at the recruit on the floor, who didn’t move.

“It seems we are down a recruit already.” Varro snickered.

Harry fed out some magic to touch at the man on the floor. He was still alive. Harry gave him a subtle little helping hand, to ease his breathing a little, and to allow his shrunken lungs to get some small relief.

“I would not rob a man of his life so meaninglessly.” Harry said. “As soon as he relearns how to breathe, he will be ready for more instruction. Perhaps he will show more respect towards actual gladiators this time.”

Another kick from Doctore and the man rolled over, his face still purple and veiny, but at least it wasn’t blue any longer. He would have a hideous bruise on his throat and stomach soon enough.

“Pair up. Crixus with Donar. Spartacus with Varro. Harian with Barca. Recruits, let us see what you can do.”

Harry groaned when he saw that Pietros was holding a spear.

“Gods be damned.” He sighed. “Alright then, Barca, let us see me speared through with a different kind of pole this day.”

Barca laughed, swinging his spear like a baton. “You need to learn skill against the spear, you will not always be so lucky against hoplomachi.”

Harry nodded and he prepared himself for the training to begin. He paid no mind to the new recruits and the shouts and roars of Doctore as he tried to instruct them, as he tried to mould them into something half resembling gladiators.

He focused his all on Barca, even as they carved a swath through their other paired up brothers, fighting, attacking, defending, or feinting. Barca knew that endurance and stamina were his biggest weaknesses, thus he tried to keep him moving, trying to tire him out, always looking for a chance to take advantage of Harry’s lack of stamina. Harry got better with every day.

The noon meal was called and Harry stayed on the sands with Pietros, waiting for him to be done picking up discarded swords and shields, happily chatting as they did so. Of course the inevitable commotion had them both looking over towards the eating area…the hazing of the new recruits had started as Crixus was blocking the new recruits from the kettle of porridge.

“You do not eat before gladiators!” Crixus was shouting. “Our brother Harian has not taken his own bowl!”

“He did not even come over!” One of the recruits tried to defend, but Barca was standing now and Harry sighed, looked at Pietros, and he shook his head.

“It makes no matter that he has not yet come over, you can eat, once he has his bowl. Not before.” Barca said with that same vicious smile that he only seemed to bring out around new recruits.

Harry didn’t rush, despite feeling all eyes upon him, as he helped Pietros carry weaponry back to their boxes, staying with him as he locked them and ran to give the key to Doctore. He came back and they made their way to the eating area together.

Harry got a bowl of porridge and handed it to Pietros, then he took one for himself. He knew what was coming and he moved to the table, tugging along Pietros…as Barca shoved the remaining porridge onto the floor.

“Now you can eat.” Crixus laughed as he went to resume his seat, and his own meal.

Barca eased down on Pietros’ other side and Harry, not happy that his back was to the new recruits, moved to sit sideways on the bench, just in case someone tried to harm Pietros. No one was suicidal enough to hit Barca, and Harry didn’t care if he was targeted, but he would not allow Pietros to be harmed.

He heard the grumbling, the curses, under the laughter of the brotherhood.

“Crixus, let the men eat.” Spartacus said quietly. “At least once a day.”

“They need to learn!” Crixus refuted.

“They can still learn with something in their bellies at least.”

“Do you know how many times Barca and Auctus allowed me to eat? They didn’t and I became champion! We did the same to you and you became the champion, however temporarily it might be. They need to learn.”

“These were back in the days of piss in the porridge?” Harry questioned.

Barca laughed happily at the memories. “It is tradition, Spartacus.” He said. “It was done to me when I arrived also. Doctore, when he was still Oenomaus, even had it done to him when he first became a gladiator, and he helped us to haze the new recruits. It is why he turns a blind eye to it. It is tradition.”

“One meal a day.” Spartacus said sternly.

Crixus rolled his eyes. “Spartacus, the soft and gentle one. Fine, one meal a day where they get to eat, but we will make up for it in other ways.”

“That doesn’t sound good.” Harry giggled.

“How old are you?” Someone unfamiliar demanded.

Harry turned fully, to see the table of huddling recruits, who looked more like frightened rabbits, eating what food they’d salvaged from the floor. The one who had spoken was the one he’d beaten soundly in the demonstration.

“Does it make any matter?” Harry asked mildly.

“You are older than you look, to have bested me.” He said furiously.

His brothers all laughed and Harry giggled.

“I suppose that depends on how old you believe me to look.” He said simply, daring the recruit to go on.

“Your looks and high giggle suggest twelve.”

Harry laughed fully then, a nice belly laugh. He wiped his eyes. “Then yes, I am older than I look.” He answered without elaborating.

“Are you truly the third rated gladiator in the ludus?” The one with the stupid mouth asked. The man next to him shot him a silencing look. Harry guessed then that they were brothers, true blood brothers, with the one with the stupid, unguarded mouth being the younger. Now that he was seeing them up close, with such a thought in mind, he could see the resemblance in their faces and their similar haircuts.

“I am, yes.”

“The rest of you must be horse shit.” Another of the recruits said.

“Ohh!” Harry trailed off into laughter as he looked around him. “Oh, fuck the gods, you are so dead when my brothers get their hands on you.”

“We recruits spar together.” The other one said confidently.

“For how long?” Donar asked with a cruel glint in his eyes.

“Doctore will have you sparring us very soon. Then we’ll see who is the horse shit or not.” Harry said with a grin.

“You know, only three of you will survive to receive the mark.” Crixus said simply.

“You think three will reach the test?” Harry demanded. “I had it down to two.”

“I agree with tiny.” Barca said. “Only two.”

“The goats?” Harry asked with a grin.

“Yes, I would wager that it would be the goats who pass.”

“Who are you calling goats?” The recruit, Segovax, demanded.

“Not you, I have you posted to die.” Harry said dispassionately. “Those two, the Germans.”

“The fucking Germans?” Crixus demanded. “They won’t pass!”

“The elder might.” Donar cut in. “The younger will be cut down.”

“I think both big goat and little goat will pass.” Harry said.

“Five Denarii on that!” Donar said.

“I’ll take that.” Harry grinned. “If I see you purposefully sabotaging my wager, Donar, we’ll have words!”

“No more lucky amulet?” Donar asked.

“Exactly!” Harry giggled.

“Who the fuck are you calling a goat!” The elder brother demanded, standing up furiously.

“You and your brother. With those braids you have in, you look like goats.” Harry replied. “You will remain goats too, for I have now wagered coin on you to survive, and I’m a very bad loser.”

“You believe we can pass?” The younger asked.

“Of course. The rest of you stupid fucks don’t have a chance, especially not you.” Harry said, glaring at the one he had sparred with.

The man leapt up and Harry let him. He didn’t even twitch, he just looked at him, grinning, very amused at his angry response.

“What are you going to do?” Harry laughed. “Fight me, here?”

“You will be alone soon…”

“I am never alone. I am housed with my brothers always, and you are nothing. You are lower than the most contemptable of criminals. I would kill you with my bare hands if you tried.”

The man rushed at him and Harry grabbed his wooden spoon, snapped off the head and held it out, just in time for the recruit to impale himself on it. It went straight through his neck, so that when Barca arrived a moment later to pull the recruit off of him, he was already dead.

“Varro, now we are down to five recruits.” Harry said, then he looked at his blood and gore splattered hand. “Fuck it, my spoon! Crixus, give me yours so I can eat.”

“No.”

“You’ve finished eating!” Harry growled.

Crixus laughed and handed over the requested spoon. “For being the first to draw blood and being the first to end the miserable lives of the piss and shit we’ve been given to parade as gladiators.”

“What happened?” Doctore roared, his whip cracking just to make them flinch. “How is this man dead?”

“That was me, Doctore.” Harry said, owning up happily before anyone else was needlessly blamed. “He attacked me, I defended myself.”

“He attacked you?”

“I think he took exception to the demonstration.” Harry nodded.

“You had to defend yourself?”

“He reached me a heartbeat before Barca got to him.”

“Tiny had already killed him when I hauled him off.” Barca agreed. “Or I would have killed him myself.”

“Spartacus, do you have anything to add?”

Spartacus looked up from his bowl, spoon halfway to his mouth. “He charged like all new recruits. He didn’t stop to pause, he impaled himself on Harian’s spoon in his wild charge. He died a fool.”

Doctore looked around for those who had finished eating. “Donar, Fulco, drag him to the medicus. The rest of you, you have one hour before training resumes, do not kill anyone else!”

“We’ll try.” Harry giggled softly as Doctore walked off. Barca and Crixus both snorted.

“You never answered his question.”

Harry turned back around incredulously as big goat spoke to him.

“What?” He asked.

“How old are you?”

Harry snorted. “I’m fourteen.”

“You’ve won arena battles?”

“A dozen or so.” Harry nodded.

“All of them completely unscathed!” Crixus added proudly.

Harry smiled. “I lose myself in the arena. No blade can touch me, no feint works, no attack series penetrates my defence, and no defence series can withstand my attacks. It is like I truly give myself over to the gods and they fight in my stead.”

“Seeing you on the sands I can well believe as such.” Barca told him. “As long as it keeps you safe.”

“I’m always safe!” Harry scoffed.

“The games against Pompeii are next.” Crixus said with a smile. “I am fit enough to participate.”

“It’ll be a relief to finally fight against someone other than the shit of Solonius and Vibius.” Harry agreed. “Perhaps the gladiators of Pompeii will offer more challenge and sport.” 

His brothers all laughed and Harry settled back to enjoy his last times with Barca and Pietros. After the games against Pompeii’s gladiators, Barca’s last, they would be freed. He wanted to spend as much time with them as possible. He wanted to enjoy them as much as he could, before he said goodbye to them for the last time. Despite his sure, confident words, it was very unlikely that he would live to see them again, but, he consoled himself, it would be enough to know that they were going to live happily, that they would be together in freedom and love.   
He would hopefully see them again in the afterlife that they fully believed in. He’d never truly given religion any thought, but with the excess of gods and goddesses, from several different cultures and countries, surrounding him at all times, it was hard to shake it when it was so in his face, when everyone prayed to different gods for different things, when he was claimed as being blessed or favoured by Fortuna, the Roman goddess of luck, pretty much every single day, when all the different festivals called for gladiatorial games, like the Vulcanalia, which celebrated the god Vulcan. It was hard to get away from it all, it wasn’t any wonder that Barca and Pietros had been able to convince him that they would all be reunited in the underworld, to live eternity together in happiness, along with Barca’s previous lovers, Auctus and Cyprian, who allegedly were already waiting for them. It was very idyllic, and exactly what a slave who lived in servitude and utter misery wished for…to be reunited in happiness with far off loved ones to live an eternal life of peace, love, and tranquillity. But still, he couldn’t help but be swept up in the hype, in the pure blissfulness of an eternal life of happiness and love, especially if it meant that he spent his eternal life with Barca and Pietros, as was promised. He wouldn’t even mind Auctus and Cyprian being there as lovers of Barca, perhaps he might even find two new men to love, after all, in such a place as this, under the thumb of Roman citizens, a mere slave condemned to fight until death, the prospect of another life waiting for him, a happier life, filled with love and contentment…well, that wasn’t such a terrible thing to believe in after all.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ X

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: We are now into the second half of this fic, lovelies. There are only 6 more chapters to go until the end of this fic, so it’s going to start moving along now. Agron and Duro are here, the games against Pompeii approach, but there are more surprises to be had first. There will be more misery, more suffering, and Harry will naturally be at the heart of it.
> 
> Until next week, lovelies, stay safe,
> 
> StarLight Massacre. X


	9. Praeparatura

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last Time
> 
> It was very idyllic, and exactly what a slave who lived in servitude and utter misery wished for…to be reunited in happiness with far off loved ones to live an eternal life of peace, love, and tranquillity. But still, he couldn’t help but be swept up in the hype, in the pure blissfulness of an eternal life of happiness and love, especially if it meant that he spent his eternal life with Barca and Pietros, as was promised. He wouldn’t even mind Auctus and Cyprian being there as lovers of Barca, perhaps he might even find two new men to love, after all, in such a place as this, under the thumb of Roman citizens, a mere slave condemned to fight until death, the prospect of another life waiting for him, a happier life, filled with love and contentment…well, that wasn’t such a terrible thing to believe in after all.

Chapter Nine - Praeparatura

The training sands were not safe when Crixus returned to them with vengeance. Having gotten the all clear from Harry, his muscles now healed and behaving as if he’d never been injured before in his life, and with the only mark upon him being from the vulgar, garish stitching that had left the slightest puckering of skin once Harry was finished with him, Crixus was happily cutting a path through his brothers to reach Spartacus. His greatest hope was to regain his title of champion of Capua, and anyone who stood in his way was savagely cut down, in Crixus’ belief that he would be paired with Spartacus and get the chance to show him up. Not even Harry was spared, as a brutal kick almost caved in his ribcage and sent him flying, almost over the edge of the cliff. He settled not a hand’s breadth from the sheer drop, his heart in his throat as he was on his side facing out into nothingness, his body resting on uneven, unsure stone. One inch more, one more turn of his body in the wrong direction, and he would have been falling.

“Crixus!” Doctore roared as he’d seen what had happened. He had only paired the two of them together to try and prevent Crixus from injuring, or killing, his own brothers. “You are upon the training sands, not in the arena. Are you so eager to see to the death of the one who dedicated his hands to healing you?”

“Apologies, Doctore.” Crixus said as his chest heaved with his exertion. “I did not mean to use such force.”

Harry rolled onto his back, his body tense from fear and pain, and he looked up at Crixus consideringly, wondering if his words were true or if being the champion was the only thing that mattered, even over friendships. Harry had dutifully healed Crixus, even at the expense of his own training and magic, risking his own survival, and Crixus had almost kicked him over the edge of the cliff, just for a mere chance to be paired with Spartacus on the training sands.

Barca was there then, and a frantic Pietros who fluttered by his side, and Barca gripped him tight, pulling him carefully away from the edge of the cliff and carrying him over to the eating area, where he sat him on a table to better look at him.

“I do not understand why he would do such a thing.” Pietros said, fretting, upset and angry all at once. “You are his friend, his brother, you healed him where no one else, even medicus, could not. He owes you his very life. He would not be stood where he is now if not for you.”

“Peace, Pietros.” Harry said, his voice thin and rather reedy, making his words come out strange. “I believe it to be an accident of excess. Crixus wants to train with Spartacus, to prove that he’s better and that he should be the real champion of Capua. Anyone he is paired with faces the same treatment, as we are not the one he wants to be facing. Such actions are understandable if he is treating all those he faces as Spartacus.”

“I will have words.” Barca said in a dangerously low voice. His hands had not released Harry’s waist since he’d sat him down on one of the tables. 

“Harian, how do you fare?” Doctore came over to ask.

Harry just shook his head. “I think Crixus has cracked a few ribs.” He said, his voice a harsh, guttural whisper as he fought for breath. “I can’t breathe properly, Doctore.”

It was quiet for a moment, as three men listened to the rattling in his chest as it heaved unnaturally as he sucked in rapid breaths.

“Barca, see him to the medicus immediately.” Doctore insisted.

Harry was lifted and carried to the medicus’ rooms and he was subject then to painful touches and presses, even as he set his magic to healing himself, glad that he could do so as he was conscious.

“Pietros, stay here.” Barca all but ordered.

“Barca, don’t do anything foolish!” Harry hissed desperately. “Do not risk yours and Pietros’ freedom over this. I will heal.”

“I merely seek to teach errant brother a lesson.” Barca said, before striding off with all the grace of a big cat on the hunt, and Harry prayed that Barca heeded his words. Crixus was the former champion, the second rated gladiator in the ludus, and a personal, intimate, favourite of the Domina. Harry would not have Barca risk his, and Pietros’, freedom and future happiness for his sake. Not when he could heal himself with magic overnight.

Harry was told to rest, to not move, and Pietros was very happy to sit and ensure that the medicus was heeded. He flapped if Harry so much as shifted his weight.

It was perhaps an hour after he’d been brought to the medicus’ rooms when Barca came back in, supporting a beaten, bloody Crixus.

Harry sighed and shook his head. “What did I say?”

“He sustains injury on the training sands.” Barca said as he dumped Crixus roughly onto a bed. “I am still the Beast of Carthage, the top rated Hoplomachi in Capua, and I would have none forget as such.”

“They certainly won’t forget that.” Harry said, nodding at Crixus, who was breathing as raggedly as Harry himself.

“Harian, apologies.” Crixus grunted. “I truly meant no harm. Barca says that your ribs are cracked.”

“Yes.” Harry replied tightly. “Cracked by one I had thought to call friend. All because he wanted to face Spartacus, and not me. Tell me, Crixus, friend, _brother_ , what would you have done if I had sailed over the side of cliff? You who preaches the bond of the brotherhood so fiercely, who insists that every brother has the right to die in the arena, by the hand of a gladiator, you who has cracked my ribs and would have seen me fall over a cliff edge just because I was not Spartacus.”

Crixus had pushed himself up, painfully, to lean on an elbow. “I did not mean it!” He insisted ardently. “I did not realise that you would go so far.”

Harry breathed out of his nose heavily. “You saw the danger of such force when I sparred with Litaviccus. He threw me several feet across the sands with an unexpected attack. Barca can throw me several feet if I take his spear to my shield. Crixus, I am but a half of the men here, any one of them can pick me up like a child and throw me a good distance, of course such a powerful kick would send me flying like a bird.”

“I would never mean to kill a brother.” He insisted. “Not in such a way. I call you friend, and I hope that we still are, for I still owe you my life.”

“You repay that by almost taking my own.” Harry said sternly. “I am not Spartacus, and it was not my fault that Doctore paired us together. Instead of helping me to further my training, to help me survive longer in the arena, you were almost the cause of my death, not in the arena, but from a mere training exercise.”

“Will you not forgive me for this mistake?” Crixus asked him.

“When it almost caused my death? Not for the moment. I was facing out into a void, unable to breathe, feeling the sharp edge of the cliff digging into my skin as I teetered on the verge of falling to my death. We will revisit the idea of forgiveness once I have lost my fear, once my ribs have healed and I can breathe again. Today I saw a side to you I didn’t like, a side I looked upon as I laid on my back on the edge of a cliff and I feared it, I feared you. Today I was not Harian, your brother, but a mere obstacle in your way to once again becoming the champion of Capua, and you almost killed me to remove me from your path. It is the first time I have ever felt that perhaps we are not friends, that you would do anything, even trample your other brothers underfoot, to get what you want so desperately. It is the first time that I have felt that maybe the brotherhood doesn’t matter to you as much as you claim it does. After all, if you can do this to me, when you owe me your very life, when the only reason you are out on those sands in the first place is because of me and my abilities, it makes me wonder, what would you have done if it was a different brother you faced. Barca, Donar, Tychos? What would have happened, what would you have done if you had been paired with one who you did not owe your life to in your attempt to get at Spartacus?”

“They would not have travelled so far. Being bigger and heavier.” Crixus muttered.

Harry conceded that, but he lay back with a sigh. “Would you kill any of your brothers if it meant a chance to get at Spartacus?” He asked.

“Only in the arena.” Crixus answered immediately, and Harry was happy to take that as the truth.

Perhaps it was naïve of him to believe Crixus’ words, but he _wanted_ to believe them. He wanted to believe that Crixus still held value to his brothers, that he believed in the brotherhood that bonded them all via a burn scar in the shape of a letter B on their right forearms. He wanted to believe in Crixus’ words so much because of the sense of belonging they each had while they were brothers, and subject to such things together. It made it easier to bear when they were all in it together, if they didn’t have that, if they didn’t have the brotherhood, then they had nothing.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ X

Harry was healed overnight, much to the medicus’ astonishment, but Harry didn’t care as he tiredly made his way out for the morning meal, his chest black and purple from Crixus’ kick.

Barca’s expression turned dark and ugly when he saw the bruise and Pietros fawned over him, getting up to fetch him a cup of water and a bowl of porridge.

“I’m fine.” Harry said softly to Barca. “I’m healed and this bruise will fade. I have refused to heal Crixus, perhaps a few days back with the medicus will put things into proper perspective for him.”

“Harian, brother, are you well?” Donar asked, coming up to him and bending to give him a brotherly hug.

“I’m fine, Donar.” Harry said. “My ribs are fine, I can breathe again and Crixus and I have had words. He will not do as such again.”

“Words that gladden heart.” Spartacus said, also offering his happiness to see him. “I moved to grab a hold of you, but I would have been a fraction too late to grip you had you truly gone so far as to topple from cliff edge.”

Harry nodded his gratitude.

“The gods keep you in their favour and Fortuna hangs over you still.” Donar insisted. “What else could have kept you from going over the edge?”

Harry smiled. “Perhaps they truly do favour me as you keep insisting, Donar. It is just a shame that it was a brother who put me in such a position.”

“How fares Crixus this morning?” Spartacus asked him.

“Beaten, bruised, and bloody.” Harry said. “And not happy that he has to spend more days with the medicus.”

“Barca thrashed him on the sands.” Varro told him. “I have never seen such manoeuvring outside of the arena.”

“I do enough to train with my brothers.” Barca said shortly. “The arena is where I unleash my full skill and power. I do not do so with my brothers upon training sands, for Crixus I made rare exception.”

“And saw your brother to the medicus for it.” Doctore said, interrupting them. “Harian, how are this morning?”

“Well enough, Doctore.” Harry answered.

“Do you require rest?”

“No.” Harry said simply. “I have missed too much training over the last few weeks, I would not miss any more.”

His Doctore smiled slightly, then nodded and turned away. Harry went back to his breakfast and allowed Pietros to fuss like a dutiful wife, as he always did for Barca. It made Harry smile as he put up with the attentions and fussing with not a word of complaint, he would miss this when Pietros had his freedom, so he refused to upset his lover over it now.

“To the sands!” Doctore roared at them all once their breakfasts were over. “Spartacus with Varro. Barca with Gnaeus. Harian, pair with Duro until I have assessed injuries.”

Harry groaned as his brothers all laughed at him for being paired with a mere recruit with no mark.

“Alright, little goat. Come here.” Harry relented.

“Stop calling me fucking goat!” The recruit, Duro, snapped.

“Make me.” Was Harry’s reply.

“I am twice as big as you are!” Duro told him.

“And twice as stupid.” Harry pointed out, accepting the wooden sword from Pietros.

The ensuing training fight was…well, there was no other word other than pathetic as Harry fended off three brainless, frantic attacks and then sat Duro on his arse in the sand.

“Do not charge your opponent like enraged bull!” Harry snapped. “Or they are as like to put you down as one. Stop and focus your attacks.”

The next wave of frantic attacks, where Duro tried to hit him and was fended off or parried away easily, ended with Harry cracking the man in the knee with his shield and sending him groaning to the sands.

“Get up!” Harry demanded. “Prove you are a man and not a little goat!”

The enraged German leapt up and frantically attacked him yet again, with no form, no elegance, with barely even a thought to what he was doing or where he was putting his sword, shield, or body and Harry cracked him over the head this time, eliciting a screech of pain as he again went down.

“Donar!” Harry called out over the sands. “I wish to revise our wager! Only big goat will receive the mark, little goat proves challenge enough only for finding his own feet!”

His brothers roared with laughter.

“Wagers cannot be changed once set!” Donar called out. “It seems Fortuna does not favour you this time, tiny! Your coin will be lining my own purse.”

Harry laughed and turned back to the scowling German. Harry gave his foot a kick.

“Get up, you embarrass yourself. I have found more challenge from the palus.”

Duro bared his teeth and launched at him and Harry fended off the furious swipes and jabs and once again sent him to the floor.

“You pathetic little goat. Get the fuck up and present fucking challenge!” Harry snapped. “How are you even considered anything close to a warrior in your country? Germania must be filled with shit and piss if it can squeeze out the likes of you and call you a warrior.”

The attack came from behind this time, and Harry ducked a moment before a wooden sword would have cracked into his head and he turned and fought the new opponent. Harry had meant the insult to spurn the little goat, Duro, into a reaction, instead it had enraged big goat, Agron, into leaving his own opponent, Segovax, and coming after him instead.

He presented more of a challenge and Harry set himself to the task and in the end his training won out over that of a mere warrior from a distant land and he landed big brother beside little brother in the sand.

“An excellent demonstration, Harian.” Doctore praised.

“I do not think such a thing could even be considered demonstration, Doctore. Not when I am battling against goats instead of men.”

The elder brother screamed in rage and flew at him. Harry blocked his attacks and hit back, leaving behind bruises.

“Stop throwing yourself onto my sword like a stupid goat!” Harry roared. “Stop, pause, consider your options!”

At least the elder seemed to understand and he did as Harry had suggested, stopping, taking a breather and as he did so, Harry took savage advantage and went into an attack series that the elder goat, Agron, had to defend against, very clumsily.

“Much better!” Harry replied brightly as he ended his attack series with a punishing blow to the shoulder. “Try again. Little goat, watch your nanny.” He directed at the sulking younger brother.

Calling Agron a nanny goat seemed to throw the man back into a thoughtless rage. He launched an attack without thought to technique and Harry punished him for it.

“Anger in the arena is your enemy, it will not help you.” Harry snarled at them both. “If you go into the arena charging like a wild animal, you will be slaughtered like one! Stop, take heed of Doctore’s lessons and become a gladiator, not goats! If he can turn me into a gladiator, who was originally destined for a brothel, he can turn you both from goats and into gladiators.”

“You were meant for a brothel?” Agron asked, looking at him consideringly.

“Yes.” Harry said simply. “Could you not guess from one glance at me? A trick of a vile man saw me here, to this ludus and to my brothers, and Doctore has made me into a gladiator. If you but listen he can do the same for you and your brother.”

Agron nodded then, a look of resolve coming over his face. He did not seem to be the jokester of that morning, as he went back to his own sparring partner and set himself to training.

“Little goat, come and listen to instruction and see yourself moulded into a gladiator! I was meant for a brothel, but sent here to be butchered as some cruel jest, but I am still here, and no one laughs at me on the sands any longer. Come and see to the same.”

Duro actually listened this time and Harry was able to instruct him in a defensive series to combat Harry’s attack series, walking him through the moves and he actually showed an improvement. Harry almost breathed a huge sigh of relief. Perhaps his bet with Donar would see him gaining coin after all, and not losing it as he had feared. He could only hope.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ X

Harry was grey faced and rooted to the spot as he watched his brothers hammer long nails into Segovax’s wrists.

He made a soft, meek noise, a whimper, and Barca gripped his shoulder tighter.

“Watch.” He commanded him, as he’d done with Pietros. “This scum tried to kill a brother. This is what he deserves.”

Harry kept his eyes open and on the writhing, screaming man as he was crucified. He’d already been emasculated and the screams, the keening, as this was done had made Harry cringe.

Crixus, who had saved Spartacus from being strangled, laid a heavy hand on his lower back, silently supporting him. He had truly proven to him, to everyone, that the brotherhood mattered more to him than anything else, even becoming the champion of Capua once again. He could have walked away once he realised that Segovax was going to kill Spartacus, and he could have become the champion of Capua again through default, with Spartacus out of the picture. He had not hesitated once he’d heard the struggle in the bath house and he’d seen a raw recruit, with no mark, attacking a brother, regardless that it had been Spartacus.

Harry flinched with every blow Rhaskos gave to the nail, driving it deeper into the wrist of the mutilated Segovax. Harry’s lower lip trembled and he wanted to vomit.

When his jeering brothers hoisted Segovax up on the wooden beam, blood spurted from the place his cock had once been and Harry actually felt faint. He reached out and gripped a hold of Barca’s subligaria and he leant back into Crixus’ hand.

“Think of your friend, Spartacus.” Barca told him furiously. “Almost strangled by this scum as he bathed.”

“I do not mind if Harian finds he cannot watch.” Spartacus said consolingly from the other side of Crixus. “Do what you need to, Harian.”

“Do not encourage him to lose stomach!” Barca demanded.

“He is still a boy!” Spartacus insisted calmly. “They both are.”

“He needs to watch and harden himself to such sights.” Crixus said, backing up Barca, who was trying to keep Pietros watching also.

“Neither of them need to watch this to be men.” Spartacus said. “The sight of this would turn anyone’s stomach.”

Another pull on the rope and Segovax rose jerkily and more blood spurted out and Harry had to turn. He was shaking, quivering, on the verge of passing out. Agron was behind him, Duro not far from his protective sights.

“Why do you turn so?” Agron asked him.

“Taunt him again and you’ll join Segovax decorating the walls!” Crixus threatened.

“I’m not taunting him.” Agron denied. “Fucking Gauls.” He spat under his breath to Duro.

“Not all of us are hardened to such sights.” Harry said, shivering as something pulled another cry from Segovax. “I’ve never…never seen such…” Harry shook his head unable to voice such things.

Another scream and Pietros suddenly dashed from Barca’s side, across the sands, to the cliff and he vomited over the side amid laughs and jeers from the brothers.

“Go and collect errant lover, I will watch over the other boy.” Crixus sighed to Barca, who rolled dark eyes and went to soothe Pietros, who was in tears, perhaps from the violent, and sudden, bout of vomiting.

Crixus hauled him around, but Harry kept his head down, so he wouldn’t see his brothers hitting Segovax with a wooden training spear, like some sort of living, bloodied, macabre piñata. Of course he hated that the scum had tried to kill Spartacus, of course he wanted the man punished for it, but he didn’t want to watch as a man was mutilated and then crucified to die slowly, over a few days.

When he’d read about such things in his books, what seemed like another lifetime ago now, it was with the knowledge that he would never witness it, that it would never happen in his time and he would not have to witness such brutality. It had been a concept to him, nothing more. To be suddenly confronted with it, while he was expected to watch, was horrifying and sickening.

He moved from the dispassionate Crixus to hold onto Spartacus instead, who wrapped him up in big, warm arms and allowed him to use his chest to hide his face.

“You don’t need to watch. You’ve already seen too much. You are young yet, seeing such sights will come with time.” Spartacus said gently. “When you are a man.”

Harry fervently hoped not. He couldn’t even tell them why such sights got to him, when this was common place all over the world. Such torture, mutilation and then death was normal to these people and they expected their sons to be witness to it when they came of an age.

In his time, such things were condemned as barbaric and sick. No one was emasculated and then crucified for attempted murder, torture was not used as an interrogation technique, and information gleaned from such attempts would not stand up in a court of law. A man would say anything if he were in such agonising pain, he would declare himself the devil itself, just to ease the suffering, but here it was common place and the torture of a slave for evidence was actually expected as part of the testimony.

“All of you, retire for the night. This scum will still be here for you to play with in the morning.” Doctore told them.

Barca came to grab him and he took both him and Pietros into his cell, where they both clung to one another like terrified lambs. Barca looked very annoyed by it.

“You have seen death before.” He told the both of them. “Yet when faced with scum who deserve it you both cower like babes.”

“I’ve never seen torture, mutilation or crucifixion before.” Harry snapped, bad temperedly. “I had not even seen a man die before I came here as a recruit and Lydon killed one of my recruitment class. What were you expecting from me? That I could stand and watch such things without care? That I could be the man you wanted me to be and jeer along with the others as I had to watch such things for the first time in my life?”

Barca sighed and sat on the bed. “You need to harden soft heart to such things. You will see as such again, and worse.”

“It was the first time I’d seen such things, Barca. Give me some length on my leash.”

Barca’s head snapped to look at him. “I would not have it said that I keep you on leash! I am not your master.”

Harry breathed deeply to calm his anger. Pietros whimpered at the growing tension in the cell and Harry exhaled, cuddling Pietros for comfort.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t stand and watch such things impassively, Barca. I’m sorry that you expected more from me than I was able to give and I’m sorry that I had to turn away, but I couldn’t watch any longer. If I hadn’t turned when I had then I would have fainted. I was feeling light headed, sick, and unsteady on my feet. If I had been forced to watch any more then I would have fallen unconscious. I can’t be expected to do things first time, I need exposure to it and to learn gradually, as I did with the arena.”

Barca sighed and nodded his agreement. He held out an arm to them both and he let them make the choice to go to him. The both of them did, Harry sitting on one side, Pietros on the other.

“Apologies for seeming as a brute, but I need to know that you’ll be fine without me. Seeing you struggle is difficult for me, when I know that I’m leaving.”

Harry smiled sadly. “There are a thousand things I have yet to experience and you were never going to be there for all of them. I have my brothers to fall on if needed. Spartacus, Crixus, Donar, Varro, Pollux, Fulco. Even the goats are growing on me and I am more sure now that they’ll pass the test tomorrow night. They will be brothers soon enough and I will be able to rely on them also.”

“They cannot be trusted.” Barca told him.

“They will be brothers and, given a bit more time, I’m sure I will like them well enough. They already make me laugh.”

Barca gave a sigh and he fell backwards, dragging the both of them with him.

“At least I know I am leaving you with brothers.”

“We will always be brothers, forever bonded together by brand. You only need to look at it and think of me, knowing that I will be looking at the same brand, thinking of you both, who share the same mark.” Harry said, snuggling into Barca’s neck. “Our brothers will look after me in your place. You know that they will. Just look after yourself and our Pietros.”

“I will.” Barca insisted.

“I will miss you so much. You will have to come join us soon.” Pietros told him from Barca’s other side.

Harry shared a sad frown with Barca. They both knew that it was near impossible. “Of course I will.” Harry said. “Just make sure to buy seeds here in Rome. They will be cheaper. Buy soil from Mount Vesuvius too. That will be expensive, but well worth it when you set up your farm.”

“Why does it have to come from Vesuvius?” Barca asked.

“It is the most fertile ground known and the soil in Carthage was sown with salt to stop anything from growing.” Harry nodded. “Don’t take livestock over with you, they may not survive the sea passage and will end up being a waste of coin, just soil and seeds.”

Barca nodded. “I will see as such prepared and I would stay away from the ground sown with salt, we need to be near a town in order to sell produce.”

Harry smiled and cuddled back in. Barca’s knowledge made Harry think he had once been a farmer, or the son of a farmer, but he didn’t want to ask. Whatever Barca had been in a past life was wiped away until he was free. For now he was the Beast of Carthage, a feared, highly skilled Hoplomachus.

“Let us turn to be more comfortable.” Barca suggested and Pietros sat up and moved. Harry refused and demanded to be moved and with a fond chuckle, Barca pulled him about and settled him down next to Pietros.

Barca laid down on Harry’s other side and they all cuddled together, all of them aware that very soon they wouldn’t be able to do such things. Harry inhaled deeply and he clung to both of his lovers tightly. He checked to make sure that the tracking spell on them both was still strong and he smiled softly. He hoped that he did get to see them again…one day.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ X

It took three days for Segovax to die on the wall, and he was left there to rot for a further two days before his body was taken down and thrown over the cliff like a piece of rubbish. In that time Harry didn’t get a single day of good training, and he picked at his food, barely eating, having to endure Barca’s mother henning throughout it. He was much better once Segovax’s body was removed from the wall, but he just couldn’t see that section of wall now and not shiver in revulsion.

Donar had bitched and grumbled as he handed over coin to Harry, as only Agron and Duro passed the test and were branded as brothers. They were welcomed into the brotherhood as easily as if none of the hazing had ever happened, the same as Harry had been, the same as everyone else had been. The only one who still earned the derision of the brotherhood while wearing the mark was Ashur, as he hadn’t earnt his mark in a true test, nor had he won it in the arena, as Harry had. That and he was still crippled, though according to Fulco, who had seen him recently, the brace on his leg had been removed, but he was still avoiding the ludus. Harry smiled as he had heard that, knowing that he was the cause.

“Little goat, will you spar with me today?” Harry asked Duro. “I wish to expand on what I taught you yesterday in preparation for the games against Pompeii.”

“I am a goat no longer!” Duro bitched.

“You’ll always be a goat to me.” Harry smiled.

“Why fucking goat?” Agron asked.

“I like goats.” Harry said simply. “And I liked you both well enough when you arrived.”

Duro scoffed in laughter.

“No, I did, you always made me laugh. But you were recruits, not brothers. It is expected to taunt you, until you have the mark. It is tradition. Now that you have the mark, I am free to show affection!”

“He’s very affectionate too.” Spartacus chuckled as he passed.

Harry made a noise. “Likely because I see all you old men as fathers, rather than brothers.” He joked.

“Barca is the oldest of us, yet you do not see him as a father!” Pollux called out.

Harry grinned. “Barca moves as if he is half the age of all of you and he’s better looking than every one of you too! It is no wonder that I see him as a lover over the rest of you dregs.”

Barca sent him a heated look and Harry winked and then giggled.

“Your sweet giggles still have not deepened.” Rhaskos teased.

“My voice breaks more often now.” Harry said. “It will not be long now that I approach fifteen.”

“It is hard to believe how young you are.” Agron told him, looking at him.

“It’s even harder to believe that I actually made it to a ludus, and that I actually became a gladiator.” Harry grinned.

“Are you sure I could not wrest you away from Barca’s arms and into my own?” Agron asked with his own grin.

Duro made a horrified noise and moved away, quickly, to sit with Hamilcar. Harry laughed happily at that, it was such a bratty, brotherly thing to do.

“I’m sure.” Harry answered Agron.

“I am half his age, I’m sure I could satisfy you more.”

“Have care with your words.” Harry warned. “Barca would spear you as if a fish in a river if he heard you proposition me.”

Agron just grinned wider.

“It will never happen, nanny goat.” Harry said. “I love Barca and Pietros. You’ll have to find another boy to fuck, because it won’t be me.”

“To the sands!” Doctore roared. “Spartacus with Varro. Crixus with Gnaeus. Harian, are you seeing to the needs of your new brothers?”

Harry gave a sadistic smile to Duro. “I would take little goat and instruct him more. He’s finally getting the hang of things, Doctore.”

“Duro, with Harian. Agron with Hamilcar.”

Duro slouched over unhappily.

“Come on, you can’t say you dislike me. Your brother likes me very much.”

Duro made a point of gagging and Harry laughed. “Give me a nice girl any day.” Duro said. “One with blonde hair and wide hips.”

“Keep your nice girls, I want a big, bad man with shoulders large enough to support me, big arms to hold me, and a big something else to keep me satisfied.” Harry winked at Duro who burst out laughing. “Come on, Duro, form one.”

Duro calmed himself and settled himself into form one. From there Harry was able to walk Duro through a fast paced attack series, paired it with the defence series that Harry had taught him and Duro held his own. Harry was very pleased with his progress.

Duro wasn’t as skilled as his big brother, Agron, but with some more personal, one-on-one training, he was doing very well and Harry fully expected him to do well in the games against the city of Pompeii.

Harry stopped their sparring and he turned to instruction again, teaching Duro another series, how to defend against it, how to attack against it and then they started again. Harry didn’t stop pushing Duro until his little goat was dripping with sweat and covered in bruises and little nicks. They went to the water amphora and they took one of the floating clay cups each and they drank deeply.

“Gratitude for helping with instruction.” Duro said breathlessly. “I did not think myself so inept as a warrior.”

“You weren’t inept as a warrior, Duro.” Harry said, panting himself as he drank. “Just at being a gladiator, which is a different thing altogether. Agron understood the difference and he was able to mould himself anew. You needed a different approach, a bit more help, but you’re getting there now.”

“Thanks to your patient instruction.” Duro insisted.

Harry smiled. “As I said, I like you. Your brother could use some work on his manners though.”

Duro snorted. “He calls me the fucking idiot, but he is just the same.”

“You truly are brothers.” Harry laughed. “You’re both stupid fucks.”

“Attend!” Doctore roared out and Harry turned automatically.

He gripped Duro’s arm and hurried him over to Doctore. Harry slotted himself between Spartacus and Barca, so that he could see. Agron moved to stand beside Duro, ever the protective nanny goat.

“A small games have been called by magistrate Calavius.” Doctore told them. “Only the top ranked gladiators of this ludus have been asked for. Spartacus, you have the primus and will fight with Varro and you will face seven men while chained together. Barca, you face two men solo.”

Harry sent a worried look to Barca, whose face was set with grim determination. The games against Pompeii were meant to be his last, yet of course, they would be if Batiatus’ words yet remained true. There had obviously been no mention of Barca’s attendance in games between now and the games against Pompeii. Pietros looked especially crushed by the news.

“Harian…”

The sheer fact that Doctore hesitated filled Harry with dread. He steeled himself for whatever news was to come. Barca’s hand clamped on tight to his tiny shoulder as a ripple of anticipation ran through his brothers. Doctore never hesitated.

“How many?” Harry asked, his voice strong and steady, as opposed to his trembling knees. It had to be bad to cause Doctore to hesitate, and the Romans were so expectant of him to die in the arena, yet he survived still, that they kept throwing more and more opponents at him. They would not rest until they found his limit, not until he was overwhelmed and killed because of their morbid curiosity to see how much was too much for the tiny little boy on the sands. They had clearly grown tired of him facing two opponents, believing that he won too easily, and Harry worried about how many he was to face this time. Three? Four? Seven, as Spartacus and Varro were to face together?

“I am sorry, I did try to condemn such a thing, but Dominus was asked only to put up the men asked for.” Doctore said, worrying Harry further.

“Doctore, please. How many?”

“Four solo.”

Harry’s entire body went numb, his mind blank. He barely remembered what he did or why. He just nodded and he turned, walking stiffly over to the palus. He felt a hundred pairs of eyes on him as he loosened his shoulders and then went through several forms against the palus, before launching into his favoured attack series.

He reminded himself that he was a slave. A nothing. He had no opinion, no rights, he did not even own his own body or have any say in how it was treated. If his Dominus had agreed to this, then he could do nothing about it, and as his name had been called out, his Dominus had agreed to put him up in this vastly outweighed match. The Romans would watch him fall on the sands and cheer. He was nothing to them and he always would be.

He swallowed hard and he refused to look at Pietros, he knew what expression he would wear and Harry could not bear to see it. He knew that his brothers would put up a front for him, they would wear masks while sending him pitying looks behind his back. They would try to give him false hope, telling him that he could easily best four inferior men in the arena, that he was used to fighting two on one matches and that this would be little different.

Harry had lost his nerve, and his stomach, in one of his two on one matches before. He had almost died and now he was expected to fight a four onto one match. Four men who were brothers, four men who would work in tandem and could pin him from all sides so that he would always have his exposed back to one of them.

When the noon meal was called, Harry did not follow his brothers, he stayed on the palus, as he had once done when he was still in training. He wasn’t hungry, he knew that if he ate at the moment then the grim food that he had gotten used to over the last several months would only come back up. He ignored the several calls by his brothers to get him to come over.

“We have not done this for some time.”

Harry flinched and looked up at Spartacus, whose expression was not covered by a mask. His eyes only expressed sadness.

The champion of Capua, prodded him with one of his wooden swords and Harry remembered how they used to spar together while their brothers ate and watched, yelling out advice and abuse.

“It has been a long time since I was but a recruit still unable to fight with a shield and you did not yet stand as champion of this ludus, nor of Capua.”

“Much has changed.”

“They won’t stop.” Harry said after a heavy pause. “If I, by the miracle of the gods, defeat my four opponents, my next fight it will be six. If I survive that too, perhaps next it will be eight. They aren’t going to stop until they find my limit and I am dead. I am still only fourteen, I have no chance for freedom while so young, yet if this pattern continues, I have no hope. What am I fighting for if not a future? I have no family, no wife, no children, I don’t want fame or glory. What am I supposed to be fighting for if not a future that I am never going to see thanks to the curiosity of Roman shits?”

“Come, let us spar.”

Harry snorted. “You make a fool of me.” Harry complained. “You would dare try to give me false hope in this coming match? I can barely survive against two of Solonius’ gladiators. Four of anyone else’s will be too much for me to overcome.”

“Then die in glorious fight.” Spartacus said.

“I don’t want to die!” Harry hissed angrily.

“Then stand and fight for life.” Spartacus told him and Harry realised that he’d been backed into a corner.

Growling with frustration, which only made Spartacus smile because of his high pitched voice, Harry settled his shoulders and rocked his hips a little. He knew that he was going to lose, gone were the days where he could best Spartacus the recruit with a few tricks, Spartacus the champion of Capua was an entirely different matter. Still, Harry dearly wanted to bash Spartacus’ brains out onto the sand, so he set himself to the sparring, avoiding both swords, using his shield as he’d been taught, blocking, parrying, then fighting to take himself off the defensive and he threw in a new attack series that he’d been working on while he instructed Duro, who was kind and friendly, bless his heart, but was not the best sparring partner. It had given him time to invent new attack and defensive series’ and now he wanted to test a few of them out.

Spartacus tried to anticipate what he was doing with his new attack series, but that was exactly what Harry had wanted him to do and he feinted low, very low as he was much shorter, acting as if he was going for his favoured place to hit (the back of the heel), and he forced Spartacus, with no shield, to bend down just as low to parry the attack to his heel that didn’t come…too late Spartacus realised what Harry had done and he surged up to try and correct his mistake, only for a savage blow to his exposed neck to land with a harsh thwack, bringing him down to the sands.

His brothers all cheered raucously, even Doctore looked impressed at his quick misdirection and the speed and agility it had taken him to bend down for the heel, then change direction and aim for the neck instead. Harry blew out a massive breath.

“You did not have to hit so hard!” Spartacus complained loudly as Harry helped him up.

“Be thankful!” Harry told him. “I made that move to hack into my opponent’s head, you are lucky I was feeling merciful and cut into neck instead, lest we be picking bits of your skull from the sand!”

Spartacus laughed and clapped his tiny shoulder and he steered Harry to get some food.

“You have been hiding secret moves from us, brother!” Crixus teased him. “I believed you to be going for the heel, as always.”

“If all of you know what part of the body I strike at next, then it is time to change my routine.” Harry said, sitting beside Pietros. “So now I feint at your heels and smash in your stupid heads instead.”

“What other moves have you been devising behind beloved brothers’ backs?” Barca asked him with a smile.

“Many more.” Harry teased, trying to make a play at being happy. It was easier now than it had once been, in this place of misery and death.

“Then why do you fret so over these games?” Gnaeus asked him.

Harry turned and glared at him…out of all of his brothers it was Gnaeus whom he hated the most. He had forgiven Rhaskos and Rabanus for their once plot of rape, which had seemingly been abandoned, he had even forgiven Hamilcar for the same, and for trying to kill him as a recruit. It was Gnaeus, who made his skin crawl, who was Harry’s rival in the ludus.

“I have no hope of victory over four opponents.” Harry snapped.

“You once said as such about two.”

“There is a massive difference between two and four.” Harry said angrily.

“Silence your tongue, Gnaeus.” Barca growled, reaching around Pietros to pet at Harry’s hair. “Make no mention of games again.”

“He has to face up to them.” Gnaeus insisted. “Why should we not speak of the coming games as always just because he is going to be slaughtered like the lamb he is.”

Barca was up on his feet in moments, but he was not the only one as Crixus leapt up also, alongside a furious looking Donar. It was a calm, mild looking Spartacus who put an end to things however, still sat down, a piece of bread torn and ready to be eaten in his hand.

“Harian has proven himself to be of great skill and courage. Have you ever faced two or more opponents in the arena?” He asked of Gnaeus. “Could you even hope to best me, even only on the training sands? Harian stands higher than you in the ranks of this ludus, and he has earned such elevation through spectacular victories in the arena, against odds that should have seen him surely to death. You taunt him for his fear against four opponents, when you have only ever faced one on one combat, or with brothers fighting by your side. You are the one who would have no hope in such circumstances, that is why your name was not on the list to fight.”

Harry breathed deeply and turned back to his food, as Barca, Crixus, and Donar all settled themselves and sat back down also, secure in the knowledge that Spartacus had put Gnaeus firmly back where he belonged, as was his duty as champion. Gnaeus was a good Retiarius, the top rated one in all of Capua, but he was still more of a fisherman with a net and a trident instead of sword and shield.

“Crixus, Barca, Spartacus, Varro. Attend.” Doctore called out once it was time to return to the sands. “We will see to instruction for Harian. The rest of you, take extended break.”

The four gladiators moved to the sands immediately and Harry slouched after them as their brothers all jostled one another to get in a prime position to watch. This was going to be embarrassing…not to mention very, very painful.

“Listen closely, Harian, for I believe it to be your only hope of survival.” Doctore told him and Harry was actually grateful that someone wasn’t mincing their words around him. “If any battle needed to be won quickly, it is this one, do you understand? You need to take down as many opponents as possible in the first few minutes of battle to even out the odds.”

Harry breathed deeply and he nodded.

“When your opponents first come out, they will all be in front of you, you must not allow any of them to slip behind you. You must not still be fighting the urge to flee as you did in one of your battles when they come out.”

“Rather difficult to do if one slips to either side while two stay at my front.” Harry said. “Though if I engage the one and cut them off to the one side, I should be able to keep the others in front if I am quick enough, therein lies the problem. Once I engage the one, nothing stops the others from coming around my back.”

“We will test your speed.” Doctore said. “You are on the sands, your four opponents are on the sands.” He said indicating him, then to Barca, Crixus, Spartacus, and Varro. “Begin.”

His brothers held nothing back as Crixus and Varro both moved to corner him from either side and Barca used the reach of his spear to harass him. 

Calmer than he would be in the arena, as this was a mock battle on the training sands, with wooden weapons that would hurt, but were difficult to kill with, Harry moved to Varro, diving and rolling to get on his right side, so that Varro was between him and the other three. He had scant moments to take advantage, and he was parried and blocked at all turns by Varro, before he had to move again, pulling back quickly and flicking his eyes to Spartacus coming from the left, and Crixus from the right. Harry dived and rolled to Crixus this time, and engaged him, putting him between himself and Spartacus and Varro, but he had lost focus on Barca, who jabbed him, very hard, with the spear from Crixus’ other side. He had held back and he was poised to strike at him from either side, no matter which way he had chosen.

“Dead.” Doctore told him, his voice cutting through their faux battle, and the cheering and calling of their brothers. “Do not lose focus, do not forget about a single opponent. Fall back here and we begin again.”

The five of them went back to their start positions, the four of them facing him. This time when Doctore told them to begin it was Spartacus and Crixus who tried to block off his sides. Harry dived for Crixus, avoided the downward blow from the man, who had been expecting his move, and he engaged, quick and furiously, looking for an opening.

Crixus gave him none and Harry had to leap away before he was pinned down. He called on his magic to help him, putting it into the sand to ‘feel’ where all four of his opponents were, as opposed to physically looking for them, which would put him at a severe disadvantage, as well as in an incredibly dangerous position. He needed four sets of eyes, to keep one pair on all four opponents at once, and in the absence of three additional sets of physical eyes, his magic had to become the missing pairs so that he knew where all opponents were at all times without turning his head.

He felt as Barca tried to move around Crixus to jab him again and Harry moved away without needing to look at him. He slipped around Spartacus, who turned on a quick heel to jab at him, but Harry was already gone, like a hare he had darted right past him and without stopping to pause, he’d leapt into a dive to roll around Varro. He stood and breathed, all four opponents back in front of him. He didn’t have time for a reprieve, though, he gave himself no time to even recover his breath as he immediately engaged Varro as the closest man to him.

Surprised and having lost his visual on Harry, having not expected him to have dodged Spartacus and himself so quickly and easily, Harry cracked Varro on the shoulder and with a laugh, conceding his defeat, Varro laid down and he played dead.

Harry took out Crixus immediately afterwards when he launched his sword at his head. So surprised at the move, Crixus hadn’t even raised his shield and with a curse, he laid down and played dead too, amid shouts and jeers from their brothers.

Harry wasted no time in darting forward and stealing Varro’s sword from him, turning and facing Spartacus and Barca, his last two opponents. His heart was hammering with exertion, but he refused to give up, even as his chest heaved with his desperate attempt to get more air.

Barca shot a look at Spartacus and Harry frowned at them both as Spartacus nodded back. The latter charged at him and came at him from out wide, forcing Harry to turn and put his back to Barca. Harry’s magic hummed in alarm and Harry threw himself backwards and squirmed between Barca’s legs. He rolled to his knees and as Barca turned, Harry prodded his belly with his sword. Barca laughed and laid down to play dead, leaving Harry and Spartacus. Spartacus who looked as spry and as fresh as a spring lamb while Harry gasped, huffed, and sweated like a pig. 

He tried his best, but he was too exhausted and every limb felt heavy and his attacks were slowed because of it. He lasted all of three minutes before Spartacus bested him and Harry went down amid a hail of blows too quick and fierce for him to combat.

He rubbed his sore body parts with a scowl.

“Much better, but you are still dead.” Doctore roared. “Get up and try again. You need to kill all four of your opponents. Three is not enough.”

Harry took a moment to catch his breath and he accepted the hand up that Spartacus offered. He trudged back into position and he waved his head from side to side in consideration. He drew more magic in close to him. Obviously he would need to use more in order to face down four opponents. He breathed in deeply and slowly to cease his hammering heart and when he was ready, he nodded to Doctore, who then looked at his four opponents, who all nodded too.

“Begin.”

Harry took the initiative this time and he charged right down the middle. He twisted to the side as he ran and he flung his sword straight into Varro’s face. Blood burst from his busted lip and Harry dived over him, and picked up the dropped sword as he did so. He faced down the three remaining opponents, the cheering and laughter from his watching brothers in his ears.

He picked off Spartacus next, as champion he was the biggest threat, but it would not be easy to beat him, especially not with two other opponents at his back each trying to kill him. He would need to take down the biggest threat quickly in the arena too, before he got too tired to adequately fight and hold his own. Here, Spartacus was that biggest threat, and Crixus and Barca did not make it easy for him to take down the champion, as they pestered him on both sides as Harry engaged with Spartacus. They were not allowing him the time he needed to take down their greatest asset. Spartacus was too skilful to be taken down quickly, but Barca and Crixus would not allow him the time or space needed to take him down in extended, engaged combat…neither would his opponents in the arena.

Harry leapt back and took a moment to catch his breath while he assessed his options. Going after Spartacus wasn’t working. He flicked his eyes to either side of the champion, to Barca and Crixus. He couldn’t leave Spartacus and Crixus to fight together, so he had to aim for one of them.

He made to go out wide, after Crixus, which sent Spartacus and Barca into offensive positions to try and cut him off and prevent him from being successful. With the help of his magic, Harry stopped and changed direction as quickly as a hare once more and he dived at Spartacus instead, diving and rolling low and smacking high on his leg…his upper thigh, almost his groin. Spartacus laughed at the deception, even as he laid down and played dead.

Gasping for breath, almost breathing out of his arse in exhaustion, Harry circled around to face Crixus and Barca. He needed to take out the latter next, leaving the still recovering Crixus for last, as with the amount of absence he’d had from the training sands, Crixus still tired easier than he’d used to.

His plans went to shit, however, when Crixus refused to wait his turn and instead he rushed at him while Barca circled and Harry made a stupid mistake while trying to get both of them back into his sights…he fell over Varro’s ‘dead’ body. Barca swooped in as quick as a flash and he struck, jabbing him with the spear while he was down on his arse, stumbling over Varro, and Harry cursed so loudly and expletively that his brothers laughed and cheered him for his creativity, even as the ‘dead’ Varro sat up and pushed Harry off of him, rubbing the chest that Harry had sat on.

“What was that for?” Harry demanded, picking himself off of the sand, still breathing heavily.

“This!” Varro said, wiping the drying blood from his chin.

Harry giggled. “You should have been quicker.”

“Take a break and recover your wind.” Doctore told them. “Pietros, water for our demonstrators.”

Pietros darted out onto the sands and over to the amphora of water. He dipped five cups and he carried three in one hand, by placing a finger in each and squeezing them together, and he carried two in the other hand, by doing the same.

Harry took his water happily and he drained it. He went to get more, but Pietros took the cup from him and ran to do it instead.

“Gratitude, lover.” Harry said as he sipped on this cup of water.

“You did well.” Doctore told him. “I do advise against throwing your only weapon, but in this case you did well to recover another weapon to hand immediately. Regrettably it might be the only option to even odds. Your move in this last round, against Varro, was very well played. No one would expect you to charge head on into a four on one match and to throw your weapon also, it will be very unexpected, thus not easy to defend against, as Varro found out.”

Harry nodded. “I knew Spartacus would be the hardest to take down, that’s why I targeted him next, a long drawn out battle with him later in the match and I would lose. I would not have the energy, nor the agility or strength to take him out. I have to take out the strongest, most skilled man early, while I have the strength for it. I was going to take out Barca next, leaving Crixus for last. He has been injured and tires easier than he once did, which would have put us on more even footing after taking out three men already. I did not count on falling over Varro’s dead, useless body.”

He was pulled into a headlock by said man and he laughed, holding up two fingers in a plea for mercy.

“A very good plan to have, one that was well thought out in limited time.” Doctore told him. “You need to be aware of dead, or downed opponents as well as those you fight. As you have found out they can lead to your death still, if you discount them or lose position of their bodies.”

Harry nodded and he swore not to make the same mistake again. He had been doing very, very well in that round, before he’d tripped over Varro. He would not get away with the same rush and throw that had downed Varro before the match had barely begun. They would all be expecting it now and he cursed himself for the lost opportunity.

He engaged his brain and he tried to think of another approach to take. He still needed to take out Spartacus as the main target, before he got too tired, otherwise he was screwed, and not in a good way.

“Attend.” Doctore told them. “You have rested enough, these games are in a week, and we need to have you ready by then.”

Harry stood and he shook himself off, rolling his shoulders and his hips. He was ready to try again.

Unfortunately nothing seemed to work and now that his brothers knew that he was targeting Spartacus, they were covering him more and forcing him into sparring with themselves, or pushing him onto one another while protecting their greatest asset so that he could not even get close. Harry lost the next round only ‘killing’ two opponents. In the round after that he only ‘killed’ one. The third round went better when Harry duped Crixus into sweeping a cut low, while Harry jumped and thwacked his shoulder, claiming one dead…he was speared by Barca straight after and Harry threw his hands up in frustration and went to get back into position. He was punished for his anger in that fourth round, he didn’t kill anyone and he went down under a hail of blows that made his ears ring and made his skin sting.

He stomped over to the water cache and he dipped a cup into the amphora, drinking deeply.

“Let go of anger and childish frustrations.” Doctore told him. “Neither will serve you in the arena.”

Harry breathed deeply and slowly to calm himself. While he drank, he thought of yet another plan to try. He was running out of ideas…and magic.

He walked back, his wooden sword dragging in the sand, ready to face yet another barrage of pain as he tried to figure out what to do to defeat four opponents. It seemed an impossible task. The most he’d gotten in this training session was three and that was by a pure fluke and a lot of magic. He was running out of luck, energy, and magic. Very soon he would need a proper rest, but from the grim look on Doctore’s face, he was unlikely to get it.

His new approach saw three dead, but Varro, the last one standing, took advantage of Harry’s exhaustion and claimed victory by sweeping out his feet and landing him on his back, a sword to his throat.

The next round saw two dead before Crixus gave him a very hard hit to the head and sent him to the sands. Harry was unable to get back up.

“Take a break. The rest of you, pair up and do some work!” Doctore shouted, cracking his whip to get the rest of the gladiators, who had had about three hours of sitting and just watching Harry trying to defeat four opponents, moving for the sands.

Harry was picked up by Barca and carried under the cover of the eating area, into the blissful shade, and he slumped on the table, resting.

“How much do the crowds see from where they sit?” Harry asked quietly. “Would they see if I was to…well, let us say that I was to use a little extra something, to cheat a little, would they see?”

“I would usually insist on honour in the arena, but you have been offered none.” Crixus said. “If you have option of cheating, take it. The crowd sees blood, and they cheer for it. They would not notice if a man were to…go down before blade hits, shall we say?”

Harry nodded. “I can do that. I could make it look like a slip on the sand. That could even the odds a little.”

“The move you used on me.” Varro said, lifting his fingers to his split lip. “Use it first, gain back weapon, then down the one nearest to you as if in a slip on the sand. That will put you back to two on one, within moments of start of fight.”

Harry nodded, thinking, planning, but in the arena everything could change in an instant. If he missed the sword, or it slipped through his fingers after he’d killed the first man…it didn’t bear thinking about. He would need to rely heavily on his magic, heavily on luck and circumstance. He took a deeper breath and turned into Barca for comfort. These coming games were going to be his most dangerous yet, he could only hope that he fought well and that if he was overwhelmed, then he got a chance to use the missio and that he wasn’t just killed outright, then of course he had to hope that the crowd favoured him after his many spectacular fights in front of them and they called for him to live. He swallowed bitterly. He shouldn’t even be here.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ X

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Oh, and next week Harry is back in the arena, facing four opponents. Poor thing. Crixus has proven himself to Harry, despite his overzealous training, and Segovax has been killed after taking Ilithyia’s poisoned chalice, she will free him if he kills Spartacus…he was too stupid to realise that he would have been crucified straight after even if he had succeeded, but thanks to Crixus that didn’t happen. Those of you who have seen the show know that this will not be Ilithyia’s only poisoned chalice either, but that comes later, and once again ends in a murder.  
> But until then, lovelies,
> 
> StarLight Massacre. X


	10. Turpiter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last Time
> 
> Harry nodded, thinking, planning, but in the arena everything could change in an instant. If he missed the sword, or it slipped through his fingers after he’d killed the first man…it didn’t bear thinking about. He would need to rely heavily on his magic, heavily on luck and circumstance. He took a deeper breath and turned into Barca for comfort. These coming games were going to be his most dangerous yet, he could only hope that he fought well and that if he was overwhelmed, then he got a chance to use the missio and that he wasn’t just killed outright, then of course he had to hope that the crowd favoured him after his many spectacular fights in front of them and they called for him to live. He swallowed bitterly. He shouldn’t even be here.

Chapter Ten - Turpiter

The next week passed as a blur of pain and exhaustion. Doctore kept him sparring in the same fashion, with Barca, Crixus, Spartacus, and Varro. He never emerged the victor, not over all four of them, and he became more determined with each try, but it was also disheartening. He couldn’t use too much magic under Doctore’s critical gaze, but as the games were tomorrow, and he had yet to emerge the victor over four opponents, Harry was getting desperate, and depressed. He wasn’t the only one either, Harry knew that Barca had had stern words with Pietros, but Harry still saw the fear and the sadness in the brown, doe-eyes of his lover who tried overly hard to be happy and cheerful around him.

Gnaeus taunted him whenever he got the chance, meaning whenever all of Harry’s ‘bodyguards’ as Gnaeus had called his friends, were out of earshot. Harry shut him down every time, but with every taunt, he took a little of it to heart. He couldn’t help it, and it did not improve his mood as the games approached ever closer.

When Doctore called an early end to the day’s training, so that those who fought tomorrow could get some decent rest, Harry could barely eat, and he knew that he would barely sleep either.

He ate purely for Pietros’ sake, choking down the bread and porridge and three cups of water in near silence. After that he needed to piss, so he went to the edge of the cliff, where all of them relieved themselves while out on the training sands, and he looked down, from the dizzying heights, to the rocks below.

“Thinking of jumping to save face?” Gnaeus asked him, coming to stand beside him, looking and grinning evilly at Harry’s rather small cock.

Harry, not comfortable at all with Gnaeus so close to him, shifted away slightly.

“No. I deserve an honourable death in the arena.” He said, echoing Crixus.

Gnaeus laughed cruelly. “You were never a gladiator. You are a novelty.”

“Yet it must hit you very deeply that I am ranked higher than you are. That the crowds and the people want to see me.” Harry taunted back as he tucked himself back into his subligaria. “How long have you been here? How old are you?” Harry scoffed exaggeratedly. “Yet it was not you who was asked for in these games, was it? No one wants to see Gnaeus the Retiarius.”

Harry reasoned later, with hindsight, that perhaps his fear had made him reckless. That perhaps goading Gnaeus was a way for him to unleash his fear in a reckless way.

Gnaeus spun and picked him up by his upper arms crushing his hands against his chest. Harry was dangled over the edge of the cliff while looking at Gnaeus’ hideous, fury twisted face.

“Let go!” He yelled as loudly as he could…not his most intelligent command, but then fear had frozen his already stupid mind.

“You want me to let you go?” Gnaeus asked with a grim smile. “Well if that is what you want.”

Harry screeched as Gnaeus loosened his grip and Harry’s lower legs dangled in thin air, his feet scraping against rock as he tried to find a foot hold.

“Gnaeus!” Spartacus roared.

Harry couldn’t see from where he was, his face now level with Gnaeus’ belly as he was dangled over the edge, but he could imagine how this looked in the light of the setting sun. He swallowed hard and tried to grip onto Gnaeus’ wrists, just in case he was dropped.

“If you drop him,” Doctore’s voice came from mere feet away. “You will be crucified, Gnaeus. He is no raw recruit worth only a few coins. He is a gladiator. The third rated gladiator in this ludus and he is worth more than you are. His worth will be taken from your flesh and then you will pay for his life with your own.”

“He offered insult.”

“You offered it first.” Harry growled, clawing at Gnaeus’ arms in an attempt to grab a hold of him, but Gnaeus’ arms were too thick, and Harry’s hands too small.

Gnaeus bared his teeth at him and Harry sneered back.

“If you drop me, I will take you with me!” Harry snarled. “I will grab your fucking wrist and drag you over as I fucking fall!”

“Doctore!” Domina’s voice called out in alarm. “What is happening? Quintus! _Quintus_!” 

“Your Dominus approaches.” Doctore said. “Bring Harian back over onto the sands and step away from him.”

“What the fuck is happening in this ludus?!” The Dominus’ voice rang out over the sands then, before Gnaeus could answer Doctore. “That boy is worth ten of you, Gnaeus, drop him and I will see you fucking crucified! Doctore, regain control!”

“You heard your Dominus. Place Harian on solid ground and face your punishment.”

“It’s him that should be punished.” Gnaeus growled. “Teasing us all like a fucking whore and not putting out to any but Barca! Outranking all of us by some mockery of the gods! He doesn’t deserve it. Ashur says he is cursed, he must be, the only way to end the curse, to end this mockery, is to kill him.”

“I have no care for what _Ashur_ says. Put him back on solid ground.”

“Release him, Gnaeus! Now!” Dominus roared. “That’s a fucking order!”

“Release him.” Gnaeus echoed. “Yes.”

Harry squeaked when he slipped down another few inches as Gnaeus loosened his grip on him further.

“Your life will not be worth living if you do this, Gnaeus.” Doctore said harshly. “Your brothers will torture you, you will be whipped, and then you will be crucified. Let Harian up.”

Harry glared at Gnaeus from where he was hanging, his feet and knees digging into the rough rock. He could feel the skin on his toes and the tops of his feet scraping off as he tried to get a foothold on the side of the mountain, he felt the pain, the tickle of blood on his feet, and down his lower legs from his shredded knees.

“It’s worth it to be rid of him and his mock parading as a gladiator, he’s cursed. Ashur is right, the only way to be rid of the curse is to kill him.” Gnaeus spat, letting go of Harry completely and letting him fall.

Harry heard Pietros’ scream. He heard Dominus roaring and shouting, he heard the crack of Doctore’s whip. It took him much longer than he would have imagined to realise that he was floating in mid-air. He wasn’t falling at all.

He reached forward and gripped the rock in front of him, clinging on for dear life. He swallowed the acrid taste of fear that lingered in his mouth and throat and he inhaled deeply. His leg was wet, it took him another several minutes to realise that he’d pissed himself in sheer terror, thankfully it was only a small spritz, as he had only just relieved himself before he’d been dropped.

He clung to the rock in sheer terror, ripping the skin from his fingers, his arms and elbows, his toes, his knees, his shins and he inhaled and exhaled very forcedly to control himself. Slowly, very slowly, the roaring in his ears subsided and noise came back to him.

Batiatus screaming and raging, Doctore’s whip. He heard Barca shouting death threats, Crixus shouting, Donar shouting, so many voices blending together, then one, much, much closer and quieter.

“Give me your hand.” A calm voice told him with a note of command.

Harry slowly, jerkily looked up, into Spartacus’ relieved face and empathetic blue eyes.

“I had hoped that your wonderful abilities would save you. I had the urge to look over the edge of cliff, and here you are. Now give me your hand, Harian.”

It took a moment, several heartbeats, to gain the courage to reach up for Spartacus, who was reaching down. Harry’s magic flickered and he slipped and he dug his fingers in, feeling his skin shredding even further, to absolute nothing, under the sharp, rough rock. He moved to look down.

“Don’t. Don’t look down. Look at me, reach for me.” Spartacus said, shifting his chest forward and reaching down more.

Harry reached up again, as much as he could, and Spartacus gripped his hand and pulled, the muscles in his arm bulging, but his grip was firm and Harry was slowly pulled up.

“It’s alright, I won’t let you go.” Spartacus promised.

“Spartacus! Have you lost sense?” Varro called out.

“No, but I have gained hold of a certain someone!” Spartacus called out loudly. “Doctore! Barca!”

Spartacus forced himself to his knees and reached with his other arm to wrap it around Harry’s back to heave him up fully. He turned and showed off a bloodied, but very alive Harry before he stood and moved them both well away from the edge of the cliff.

“We can’t get rid of our tiny brother so easily.” Spartacus said. Harry just clung to him, relieved to feel something solid.

“Thank the fucking gods!” Batiatus cursed loudly from the balcony.

Barca was there a moment later, trying to pull a shaking Harry from Spartacus, but Harry couldn’t let go.

“Harian, come to me.” Barca encouraged gently. “Let go.”

“I can’t.” Harry said, his voice much higher than normal. “I can’t.”

Harry was eventually prised off of poor Spartacus and he clung to Barca instead, moving to wrap his arms and legs around him. Pietros was there then, Harry recognised his hair against his bare back.

A warm, solid hand touched his face and he peeled open his eyes to see Oenomaus.

“How do you fare?”

“He was just dropped over cliff!” Barca defended. “He fares badly!”

Harry swallowed through his dry mouth and closed his eyes again, burrowing his face into Barca’s neck. He didn’t think he could speak at the moment.

“See him to the fucking medicus!” Batiatus roared over everyone else. “And see that fucking shit to a cell! The night before the fucking games! By Jupiter’s cock!”

Harry was carried inside the ludus, he could hear several people following, but of course it had been the last meal of the day, with no more training, and none were new recruits any longer, they were free to do as they pleased for now. Which was apparently coming to see how he fared with the medicus.

“What has happened now?” The medicus complained.

“He was thrown from the cliff.” Crixus’ voice rumbled.

“He survived?!” The medicus exclaimed in astonishment as Barca forcibly pulled Harry from him and sat him on one of the cots, Pietros moved up to sit behind him and Harry happily lay back against him, unwilling to lose the connection to a warm, much loved, body.

“He clung onto rock and was pulled back up.” Barca snapped. “Assess him!”

The medicus did as was asked, unwilling to say anything, or go against what he was told to do, in the face of a dozen furious gladiators. Harry sat quietly, allowed anything to be done to him, his heart was still racing and he was still frozen in his fear.

“How is he?” Doctore’s voice cut through the tension lined room as he strode in. There was blood on his hands, arms, chest, and face. Even as Harry watched, a drop slid from the end of his coiled whip, held tightly in his right hand.

“Numerous cuts, none seem to be deep enough to need stitching.” The medicus said distractedly. “There are tender spots that will form bruises. His fingers and toes are the worst, followed by his knees.”

“How long until he recovers?”

“A week, perhaps two.” The medicus said easily.

“Will he be able to hold sword and shield?” Crixus asked then, obviously thinking to the games tomorrow.

“Not comfortably. These fingers will be sore. The wounds to his feet will slow him down also.”

“I must speak with Dominus. Do what you can for him. Afterwards, Barca, see him to bed and to rest.”

“Tiny, what even happened?” Donar asked him after Doctore left.

“I…I…” Harry mumbled. He blew out a long breath and then took in a deeper one. “I only went to piss off the side of the cliff. He joined me. He’s been saying things all week, stupid things, like I’m going to die in the arena, how I deserve to die, he went back to wanting to rape me too. On the cliff edge he said…he asked if I was thinking of jumping, so I wouldn’t have to go in the arena tomorrow. I told him that I wasn’t, that I deserved an honourable death in the arena…he laughed at that and called me a novelty, saying I wasn’t a real gladiator. I…I just laughed at him and said if I wasn’t a gladiator then it must hit him deeply that I was ranked higher than him…he just grabbed me and dangled me over the edge, saying I was cursed.” Harry blinked softly as he recalled that. “He said that Ashur had told him that I was cursed and needed to die.”

“The shit would say as such.” Crixus hissed.

“We are glad that you clung to rock, that you are still alive.” Spartacus told him.

Harry nodded jerkily. “Gratitude for coming to peer over, I don’t think I could have held on for much longer.”

“You need to rest.” Barca said, plucking him up from the cot and then grabbing at Pietros. “We retire, brothers, see to your own sleep.”

“I am going to see to Gnaeus’ misery.” Agron said. “I do not fight tomorrow, I need no rest.”

“Don’t kill him.” Crixus said seriously. “His fate is the cross. Perhaps you could watch this time, tiny, now that it is your justice it sees to.” He addressed Harry.

“Leave him be.” Barca said. “He needs rest.”

Harry was carried from the medicus’ room and out onto the sands, a moment later he was in Barca’s cell and he was laid on the bed. Pietros cuddled into him and held him almost crushingly tight.

“When I thought you had fallen…” He whispered, and then he shivered, cutting himself off.

“My abilities saved my life.” Harry said back. “I was falling, and then I wasn’t. I was hovering in mid-air…I’ve never done that before.”

“You’ve never been thrown from a cliff before.” Barca said seriously. He sat on the bed and held his hands oh so gently in his own. “Can you heal this?”

Harry shook his head. “I will need every drop of it tomorrow, in the arena, and our training has already depleted much. I need to save it now, to build it back up for the arena. I will win, even if I have to cheat.”

“I don’t care if you do cheat.” Barca insisted. “Just come back to us. Seeing you drop over the cliff…I felt my heart break, as I had to watch Cyprian die, as I watched Auctus die, both times I was helpless. As I was tonight, watching Gnaeus dangle you over edge of cliff. I could do nothing to help you, I could only watch once again as one of my lovers was killed.”

“I wasn’t killed, Barca.”

“For several moments I believed that you were and that was enough to know how I felt. It will take time to get over as such.”

“Come here and hold me, feel my breath, feel my warmth, feel my heart beating in my chest.” Harry encouraged. “I am still alive, I am still here.”

Barca moved to lay down on the bed and Harry snuggled him up tight, he puckered his lips and Barca smiled adoringly at him, bending and giving him the kiss he wanted.

“Rest, both of you.” Pietros said. “You need to sleep.”

At least that was one good thing about all of this…he had been so scared that he was now exhausted, and he was able to go to sleep almost immediately, leaving Barca and Pietros to look over him, too afraid to let him go.

“I was so scared, Barca.” Pietros sniffled. “When I thought Gnaeus had dropped…no, when Gnaeus _did_ drop him, when I thought he had fallen to his death, I thought my heart would burst from fear and pain.”

“I felt it too, Pietros. We love him.” Barca said, still stroking Harry’s hair from his face. It had never laid flat, no matter how much he smoothed it down, it always bounced right back into its original position. He had never known hair like it before, it was something special to Harian and he adored it.

“When I saw Spartacus pull him back over the edge, I was so relieved I couldn’t move.” Pietros whispered, his hand laid flat over Harian’s thin chest, over his heart, feeling the steady, rhythmic beat under his trembling fingers.

“Gnaeus will pay for what he did with his death.” Barca said. “And for previous plot to rape you and Harian. I will take his blood and flesh as payment for all the wrongs he has done to you, and to our Harian.”

“I don’t want to leave him, Barca.”

Barca smiled wryly. “Neither do I, Pietros, but he will not allow us to stay. He is right, my time has passed and he is too young to expect freedom. If we stay, we risk the both of us falling, and then who would be left to love you and look after you? We leave him with brothers. Crixus and Spartacus will look after him, Varro, Donar, Fulco, Pollux, Agron, Duro, and Oenomaus. He is not short on friends. They will all look out for him, Pietros and he can look after himself. His abilities will help him.”

“How does he have such abilities, Barca?” Pietros asked. “I have never heard of such a thing before, I would not have believed it if I had not seen as such, felt as such, from him personally.”

Barca was quiet for a while, stroking Harian’s hair from his smooth, young face.

“There is talk, Pietros, of the wild lands of Britannia.” He said carefully. “Of their powerful druids who can freeze men to the spot, who can fill the most courageous man with fear so deep that he would walk himself to sacrifice to escape their power, or perhaps because of it. Britannia is the only known place to have such druids of power, and there is a reason that Rome will not go there. There is a reason why Rome is frightened of Britannia and its druids, and having witnessed the power that one fourteen year old boy holds…can you imagine Harian as a big, strong man, Pietros? If he was twenty, thirty years old? Think of how much power he would wield then, with more training, with more practice, he could be unstoppable, Pietros. If he is but one of many, a land filled with men and boys, perhaps even women and girls too, who have this sort of power, to heal the most fatal of wounds, to cause pain and even death without having to touch…I cannot even imagine such a thing, and seeing Harian, I cannot imagine anyone overtaking the wild lands of Britannia while druids of power, like him, protect it.”

“Is that what he is then? A druid?” Pietros asked.

“I don’t know how it works.” Barca said. “Though I know he is not religious. He doesn’t pray, he doesn’t entreat the gods for anything, not even protection before he goes out onto the sands of the arena. Yet still they show him favour, still he has such power. I don’t understand how such things work.”

“What gods do Britannia keep, do you know? I would ask them to protect their countryman, tomorrow in the arena.”

“I know of only one. Taranis, the god of thunder.” Barca said.

“I wish I knew the one for war, or luck, or maybe even healing.”

“You could ask.” A sleepy voice said from between them both as glassy, emerald green eyes parted slowly.

“We did not mean to wake you.” Barca said.

“It was more your tension that woke me, more than volume or words. I felt that you were both still awake.”

“Is there a Britannic god for good fortune or protection?” Pietros asked him.

“I don’t really hold to the gods, Pietros.” He said softly, sleepily. “But if you wanted you could try to enlist the help of Iovantucarus, the protector god of youth. Or to Andraste, the goddess of victory. Celts hold more stock in gods of war than those of protection, though with every god or goddess of war there is one for healing, I do not think that a coincidence.” He said, remembering, barely, the book he’d read on Celtic mythology a lifetime ago. “Of course each prayer calls for specific rites, including human sacrifice.”

Pietros looked alarmed and Harry chuckled sleepily.

“Most Celts hold to human sacrifice. As do the Germans.” Barca said to Pietros.

“I do not expect you to kill anyone, or any animal, just to make prayer for me when I do not hold to such ideals, Pietros. I would never kill another living thing just to make prayer to the gods and I do not expect anyone else to do so either. I will be fine, as always, with or without the gods, with or without prayers.”

“I suppose you are a far way from home.” Pietros said consideringly.

Harry smiled sadly, tiredly. If only Pietros knew how massive that understatement was…even if he did manage to get over to Britannia, there was no one there that he knew, nowhere that he could go, it was not his home, this was not his time.

“I can never go back.” He said. “Besides, home is where your heart is, and my heart resides not in my own chest, but in yours. In Barca’s. I am home as long as I am with you both.”

Pietros smiled widely at that and he bent to kiss Harry, who hummed sleepily.

“That is the most loving thing anyone has ever spoken before.” He said. “You should be an orator.”

Harry laughed at that, but he yawned too.

“We have spoken enough for one night, we need to rest.” Barca said gruffly, sitting himself up and pulling down the scratchy, thin blanket.

He covered Pietros and Harry in the middle and then he laid down himself and threw a big, long arm over Harry and over Pietros, settling them down. He rolled over a moment to blow out the lone candle, plunging them all into complete darkness. Harry settled between them, a lot of his fear of almost being thrown to his death now gone…but another fear of death was growing, in the afternoon, he was to face four men in the arena, and he would likely die from it. Perhaps a quick plunge from the cliff would have been for the best, as opposed to a slow and steady butchery on the sands, likely as he frantically tried to save his own life, to keep breathing for one more day, like a rabbit caught in a trap, in front of a baying crowd. Only tomorrow would tell, as he lived or died on the sands against an impossible number of opponents.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ X

Harry was stuck in a cell once more, with a lot fewer brothers than usual, as only he, Barca, Spartacus and Varro were here for these matches. Crixus had been upset, angry, frustrated, that he had not been asked for, but outside of the ludus, people still believe him to be grievously wounded, after word had leaked out that he was on his death bed with heinous injuries after his fight with Theokoles. Harry had calmed him and told him that these small games didn’t matter, that he should want his glorious return to the sands in the massive games held against the city of Pompeii. Crixus had been much happier as he agreed that that would be better and a more fitting return.

Barca was the first of their brothers up, Harry gave him a little jolt of energy, more of a love tap than anything, but still Barca glared at him.

“Save ability for yourself!” He said angrily, under his breath. “You don’t have enough to spare to heal yourself, do not waste it on others.”

“Barca’s right, we’re definitely going to win, you need your ability full and strong.” Spartacus said.

“Barca, quickly.” Doctore chastised from where he held the gate to the cell open.

“I love you.” Harry said. “Come back to me.”

“I will.” Barca said, going to the cell gate and leaving.

Harry sat down and he curled up. He breathed as easily as he could. He heard two unknown names being called out, then Barca’s name was called out. Of course, as he’d told their Dominus, Barca was expected to win every match he was paired in, even in a handicap match against two men.

The noises were awful and Harry shook where he sat.

“It’s down to one on one, Harian.” Varro told him and Harry nodded. “He’s doing really well.”

Harry looked at his own hands and his shredded fingertips. He’d had numbing herbs forced on him by the medicus, on Dominus’ orders, and he could no longer feel any pain from any of his injuries…the worst part had become apparent when Harry’s reactions had slowed. He hadn’t seen Crixus, right in front of him, reach to pat his face in brotherly affection, until after the hand had slapped him. He usually dodged such things.

Alarmed by it, his brothers had tested him, and they had realised that he was much slower than usual because of the numbing herbs. The medicus had been blamed for giving him too much of the painkilling herbs and Dominus had threatened to kill him if the numbing herbs affected Harry’s performance…not if it led to his death, no, he was expected to die, but if it affected his performance and he died too quickly or with little spectacle, that was the problem. Against all odds his life was actually worth something here.

He sighed and tried to look on the bright side, he still had his magic. He was torn to shreds, he was made slow by numbing herbs, but he would do his best. Barca knew where his coin was if he did fall, though Harry was determined to keep on living…he had a reason to now, he had to watch as Gnaeus was whipped by Doctore and then crucified. He might not be able to watch it, as compared to his other brothers, he was very squeamish, but it would be nice to know that it was happening on his account, because he had been attacked and almost killed.

The crowd roared and Harry looked up at the ceiling of the cell, which was shaking because of the stamping of the spectators watching.

“Barca won, Harian.” Spartacus told him with a smile. “He’s fine and he’s on his way back.”

Harry nodded, an odd mix of relief and distress as Barca had survived, yet Barca’s match being over meant that his was next. He wanted to be sick.

Barca came back completely unharmed, with the blood of his opponents on him only.

“I will have a bruise on my side for a time.” He grunted as he sat next to Harry and held him tightly. “One scum rammed me with his shield, but it will heal.”

“Harian, come on.” Doctore encouraged him sharply.

“Keep your courage, lover.” Barca told him, giving him a kiss.

Barca stood and then pulled Harry to his feet. He was going to go over to the grille to watch.

“Harian, come.” Doctore called to him again and Harry breathed out shakily.

“I’ll see you soon.” Harry said with more confidence than he was feeling. He puckered his lips and Barca kissed him again and Harry tried not to think that it could be for the last time as he made his way to the open gate. There were two guards waiting, which was new…the game organisers, and his Dominus, obviously expected him to try and make a run for it in the face of such a battle if they had posted Lorarii to stand behind him. They did not know him very well at all, and there would be no need for the guards and their whips.

“Remember, you need to do this quickly.” Doctore told him, holding out his tiny little helmet. “Try and remove two of them in the initial attack. Do you feel like you want to flee?”

“I’m too tired to flee.” Harry said, rubbing his face. “Those herbs were way too strong for how small and young I am. Fine for one of my brothers, but I should have taken a half dose. I should have thought of such, Doctore, it’s as much my fault, but I was distracted, I didn’t take notice of what I was being given and I should have.”

“As any man on such a day would be distracted. The fault lies not with you but in the inept hands of the medicus, who should have known a dose of such herbs would be too much for you.”

“Well, he hasn’t really liked me since I healed Crixus.” Harry muttered unhappily. “I wouldn’t be surprised if he did it on purpose just so I never get another opportunity to heal anyone in his own rooms again.”

Harry sucked in a huge breath and accepted his helmet from his Doctore.

“I have your bet marker safe.” 

Harry scoffed. “Hold onto it for luck, but it’s doubtful that I’ll be coming back for this one, half injured, half drugged that I am, going against four opponents.”

“Fight your hardest. The hardest you ever have before. If you can take down two with the first attack, as I said, you’ll be back on more familiar ground. You’ve beaten two on one odds before and you can do it again.”

“Never while drugged and injured.” He muttered.

Doctore gave him a stern look and Harry breathed in deeper again and he kept that small hint of hope from his Doctore close to his chest. He had beaten two on one before, twice now, even drugged and injured, he still had his magic to help him and he could drain himself of every drop of it if needed.

“Let’s get this over with.” He said sadly as his name was called out, first as usual, and he donned his helmet and walked out onto the sands to cheers and roars. He was a lot calmer than the time he had lost his nerve, and his wits, and fought with himself over fleeing, but then he was drugged and he wasn’t half crazed with thirst this time, as the drought had been ended that very same day with Spartacus’ defeat over Theokoles…no one even remembered that Crixus had been there. When the stories were told now, it was as if Spartacus had walked out onto the sands by himself to face the Shadow of Death alone.

His four opponents were introduced and Harry looked at the four of them, as they wandered out in a leisurely line, a show of strength and brotherly bonds and the utter confidence they had at winning this fight. Harry was already assessing them for which one would be the strongest, the most skilled, and thus might give him the most problems.

One was a hoplomachus…that could prove to be problematic. One was a murmillo, he was the one that Harry was going to try and take out first. The other two seemed to be thraeces. He’d need to take out one of them too.

His plan in mind, he looked for the weakest helmet, it sounded strange, but he would only be able to throw his sword through the head of someone who had a weak helmet, a touch of magic told him that it was the thraex on Harry’s far right side, which made things difficult with taking out the murmillo, who was second from the left. He sucked in a deeper breath and tried to decide what to do. He could always throw his dagger at the thraex and his sword at the murmillo, but not only would that completely disarm him if he couldn’t reach another sword, but the massive scutum shield of the murmillo would be raised as soon as the match began, protecting his opponent’s chest from his sword throw…unless…unless he used a bit of magic to make it seem like the stupid murmillo was so arrogant and confident with four men onto one little boy that he hadn’t raised it, that he hadn’t felt the need to raise his shield against such a foe. They were already showing such confidence, walking out slowly and cheering, putting their backs to him, raising their fists, they were acting like they had already won. That could really work in his favour if he timed it just right.

More secure now, happier that he had some sort of a plan to follow, even if it was a bare and very desperate one, Harry slipped his dagger, the little pugio, from his belt into his hand and he sent out three tendrils of magic in preparation, one to take the pugio into the head of the far thraex, one to take his gladius into the murmillo’s chest, and then the third to weight down that heavy shield as soon as the match began.

They came close to him, a distance of perhaps only several feet in the massive oval arena, which was a good thing, as he couldn’t realistically expect anyone to think he could throw a sword twenty odd feet. He itched to grab the shield from his back, but he needed both hands free to throw his blades. Hopefully the remaining two opponents would be too shocked by the death of half of their number in the opening seconds of the match that he could still get his hand on a sword and grab his shield from his back before they tried to kill him.

“Begin!” The editor called out from the pulvinus and the crowd roared so loudly that down on the sands they barely heard the call to start the match, but Harry knew what he had to do, and quickly, and he started charging at his opponents, immediately wrong footing them.

Such an action visibly startled his four opponents, perhaps because they had expected him to run away from them, not at them, as they thought that they would merely be hunting down a terrified little boy on the sands for an amusing spectacle, but the crowd screamed louder at his ‘courage’ and his ‘bravery’ to run head on at four opponents, both traits that they knew well and favoured above all others.

They liked his perceived suicidal charge at his four gigantic opponents. They liked it even more as he took charge of the battle, stopped his mad charge and planted his feet, and he initiated his first vicious attack and he threw the dagger in his left hand at the thraex, using magic to guide it true, he then twisted and threw the sword in his right hand at the murmillo, who had suddenly found that his shield was so heavy that he couldn’t lift it, not even an inch, to protect his bare chest.

Harry yanked his small, round shield from his back, over his shoulder and into his left hand and he was moving again before anyone realised what was even going on, and as the thraex went down with a dagger lodged in his head, Harry dived, rolled over his still warm body, crushing it under the weight of his small, hoplomachi shield and he came up with the thraex’s sword, keeping the stunned hoplomachus and the other thraex in front of him as the murmillo fell down dead, Harry’s original gladius sticking out of his chest. They were so shocked, so surprised, that they hadn’t moved a muscle. They were watching him with slack jaws, as if they were spectators also.

“What the fuck?” The remaining thraex screamed. “We were assured victory!”

“Apologies.” Harry said harshly, breathing hard from the exertion of his initial attack. “I missed the conversation with the fool who would discount me so easily.”

The crowd were amazed as two men fell in the first minute of battle, both with blades sticking out of them as their favoured baby gladiator, Harian, threw both of his weapons to kill two men almost at the same time. They screamed and roared and chanted his name, very pleased and very favourable of him at the moment, but the battle was far from over, Harry had very little luck with hoplomachi and he had little doubt that this one would cause problems for him too.

His two remaining opponents got over their shock quickly, they tried to circle him between them, but Harry dived at the hoplomachus, as his spear was less likely to cut him in half if Harry mistimed his move, and he tried to take out the back of the heel. He got a heavy, hobnailed sandal to the chest and for a moment, he couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t move. A glint of sun on steel and he forced himself to roll…a fraction too late as the spear sliced a long cut into his side as he moved. Harry cried out, but bit his lip to prevent himself from screaming with the sharp, searing pain. His reactions were slow because of the herbs he was drugged with, he should have been able to avoid that spear point, he drew more magic to him in response. He took a quick glance down and he saw his side coated in blood. There went his record for never being injured in the arena…it had always been inevitable that he would lose that record at some point, he was surprised that he had lasted as long as he had if he were honest, it had to happen eventually so he tried not to fret over it.

His magic hummed and Harry ducked another thrust from the spear and he went straight to his knees and then he surged up, trying to take the hoplomachus in the stomach, but his opponent was very skilled and his shield blocked Harry’s sword thrust, leaving Harry in a very dangerous position in very close combat with a larger, stronger opponent.

He sent his magic into the sand, searching for the thraex and was happy to note that he was staying back for the moment. Harry fell back to his knees and he rolled between the legs of the hoplomachus and he ran away from him to give himself some needed distance. He instead went after the thraex.

It was like his training all over again, he couldn’t down the other two gladiators and now he was getting tired. The fucking numbing herbs were making him slower, his fingers and toes were tingling, an indication that the herbs were wearing off anyway, he couldn’t grip his sword or shield too tightly with his sore, swollen fingers and his side was on fire from the spear cut.

He was drawn into a dangerous sword combat with the thraex, his magic alerting him that the hoplomachus was striding towards his back, likely to spear him in it, when Harry suddenly dived to the left and rolled to put the both of them in front of him. He was breathing hard, this match had already lasted twice what Barca’s had and he needed a rest, he needed a drink…he needed to not be here.

He barely heard the crowd now, it was all just white noise as he drew on his magic to help him with more energy, to block out the tingling in his fingers and toes, the pain in his side and the warm, sticky blood that was tickling his skin.

His two remaining opponents both rushed him and Harry chose to dive around the hoplomachus, again because his spear was unlikely to reach him if he dived so close to the body. He tried to swipe out at the belly again, but the hoplomachus leapt away and Harry was put in the same position, two opponents at his front. He needed to take this down to a one on one fight, preferably with the hoplomachus, not the thraex.

He made a feint at the thraex, who leapt back, before he went for the hoplomachus, separating them a little further as he ducked the long reach of the spear to try and get close enough to stab him with his very limited reach. Frustrated when he couldn’t, and now exhausted, Harry moved back a little to give himself room for a small breather, and as he did so he formed a desperate plan and he enacted it before he thought it through properly. He just ran at the hoplomachus, barged the spear out of the way with his shield, and instead of stabbing him, as that shield was locked in tight against his opponent’s chest and stomach and would have prevented his sword from landing, Harry dropped his shield, gripped the spear shaft, buried the tip in the sand and he launched a kick at his opponent’s face using the spear as a launching pole. He felt the impact all up his leg as he kicked the helmet, and the face behind it, and his already injured toes exploded with pain and he yelled out with it, but he got his desired effect as the hoplomachus fell in shock, and let go of his spear too, which Harry kept a hold of. He used his magic to find the thraex, he turned to the fucker running at his back and he launched the spear in his hand, using magic to make his aim true and to give it a bit more speed and power. It was a clumsy throw, he didn’t have any training with the spear, and it was too lengthy, too unwieldy for him, but Harry made do, and his magic helped.

The crowd screamed in joy and bayed as the thraex was speared through the chest, flying off of his feet and back a couple inches, and Harry turned again as soon as he saw that the spear had gone straight through the other man, killing him, and suddenly he was one on one with a hoplomachus with no spear. He still had his shield and his secondary weapon, the gladius, but Harry could work with that as he circled the last remaining man.

“I am not someone to be messed with!” He hissed, breathing heavily through his exhaustion and pain, trying not to show any weakness, trying not to let on exactly how close to collapsing he actually was. “Three of your brothers I’ve killed here, you will fucking join them!”

“What are you?” The hoplomachus asked, his voice shaking with fear as he circled with him. “You are no easily beaten little boy, as was promised by our Dominus and Doctore!”

“No, I’m not. I’m the baby of house Batiatus, the third rated gladiator in my ludus and I am not as such by being an easily beaten little boy!”

Harry took the time…this moment of talking, to assess his opponent critically and he could see immediately from the way that he was holding the sword, and from the furtive glances he kept casting at his spear, caught halfway through the body of his downed brother, that he was not as comfortable wielding his secondary weapon. Harry could tell that he was not forced to practice with his sword as often, nor as critically, as Barca was. Barca could use either sword or spear as easily as he could the other. If he lost his spear he could whip out his sword and carry on just as comfortably, it wouldn’t faze him and he would still win with confidence…this hoplomachus looked lost and Harry could have smiled with relief, as his odds of surviving had actually increased a little, but he didn’t allow himself to smile, not yet. There was still work to be done here and he was tired himself, exhausted even, and he was already injured, he had now lost his shield, and he was running low on magic too. He needed to end this match soon, in the next few minutes, if he had any hope at all of surviving…now wasn’t that just a novel thought? Him surviving a four on one match that he had been set to die in.

The both of them were taking a breather it seemed, as they continued to slowly circle, catching their breath again. Harry took matters into his own hands, he took control of the match and when the hoplomachus was the furthest from his spear (as Harry didn’t want him to try and yank it from his dead brother and regain his primary weapon) Harry charged suddenly, to screams and yells from the crowd and he launched a furious attack series, the same one he had used on Spartacus on the training sands. He forced the hoplomachus to clumsily block and parry his attacks with his sword or with a desperate lurch of the shield, aiming mostly low, aiming at gut, thigh, knees, and shin, forcing his opponent on the defensive, forcing him to block, to move (much further away from his favoured spear), and as he came to the end of his created series, aiming at the belly and then ducking straight down in a mock attempt to cut the heel, the hoplomachus did exactly as Harry wanted him to…exactly as Spartacus had done, and he overcompensated his reach, ducking down to protect his heel with his little shield, and he left his upper body wide open as a big, meaty target as Harry changed direction on a hairpin, and he slashed a downward cut into the head of his opponent.

The hoplomachus went down, a spray of blood raining down on the sand and the crowd roared as they realised what was going to happen next, as they realised that he was actually going to win. Harry moved quickly to control the situation and he leapt forward and kicked his remaining opponent over, as the hoplomachus went to get to his feet again, and Harry yanked his ruined helmet off…there was a bad gash on the side of his opponent’s head from the downward slash that Harry had given him.

Breathing heavily and laboriously, Harry placed a hand on the man’s head, as he had very little hair and nothing he could get a grip on, and he jabbed his neck with the tip of his sword. He took a moment to breathe, his chest heaving painfully, before looking up at the pulvinus, where the familiar form of magistrate Calavius was sat with a young boy, who was on his feet cheering and talking rapidly going by how quickly his mouth was working. His Dominus was there, laughing, clapping and looking overjoyed. Harry hoped they hurried the fuck up because he was going to pass out from exhaustion any minute now.

“Kill. Kill. Kill. Kill.” The crowd chanted unanimously, furiously.

Harry kept his eyes on the pulvinus and the moment he got the order to kill, he shoved the blade straight through the neck of his opponent, he left the sword where it was as the body of the hoplomachus fell forward into the sand with a soft thump. He raised his fist amid screams, shouts, roars, and chants of his own name and he left the sands. He wanted…no he _needed_ Barca right this moment.

When he reached the gate and was let back through, Oenomaus held him so tightly that Harry was actually shocked. His helmet was removed for him and then discarded off to the side uncaringly, his face was cupped by large, smooth hands.

“How do you fare?”

“I’m so tired.” He said. “The herbs are wearing off, my fingers and toes are in agony and that spear slice to my side is burning with fire.”

“I will send a medicus to the cell. But first, here, eat this.”

“I told you not to waste coin on this tradition.” Harry complained half-heartedly as he was given a hot sausage.

“And I fully expected you to win and come back to us.”

“I didn’t win a single time in training.”

“Of course you didn’t, not against men of our ludus, superior men. But against those who are inferior…” Doctore paused and smiled at him proudly. “You have come a very long way, Harian, and after this battle, your name will become legend, as has Spartacus’. The people will never forget what they’ve seen here tonight. I have never been more proud of a student moulded by my own hands.”

“Not even Crixus?” Harry teased between bites of sausage.

“Not even Crixus.” Oenomaus declared.

“I don’t think I could have ever survived without you.” Harry said. “You could have just ignored me and condemned me to die in my first battle, but you didn’t. I will always be grateful for that, for your instruction and your patience, limited though it was at times.”

Oenomaus patted his shoulder, saying nothing else, perhaps too emotional to speak as his eyes looked a little wet to Harry, but then he was very tired and could easily be mistaken.

“I will see you to your cell now, send one of the medici to you, and then go and collect your vast winnings before this bet maker tries to slink off to save himself from becoming destitute.”

Harry smiled and he finished his sausage, drank down the cup of water held out to him and then he found himself actually treading back to the cell, having survived the match. He could hardly believe it.

Barca was there waiting, he didn’t even wait for the gate to be opened as he barged out as soon as it was unlocked and he seized Harry tightly, checking on the wound in his side.

“It’s not too deep.” Harry said with a smile.

Barca hefted Harry gently into the cell and Oenomaus shook his head as he locked them back in before disappearing.

“Well done, Harian.” Spartacus said with a smile.

“That was unlike anything I’ve ever seen before!” Varro insisted. “Why did you never do as such on the training sands? Or was it all the special ability?” He added much quieter.

“I never done as such on the training sands because I never actually wanted to kill any of you.” Harry teased. “I was getting tired. Much too tired, the grappling for the spear, it was desperation more than anything. I couldn’t withstand the combat with the thraex, I couldn’t get close to the hoplomachus, I needed to do something and…and it turned out to be that.” He giggled, high and almost shrill.

“You need rest.” Barca told him. “Sleep for a bit.”

Harry shook his head. “Doctore is sending a medicus to check on me. The herbs started to wear off on the sands, everything is painful.”

“I can’t wait to see Gnaeus punished.” Barca snarled. “I hope our brothers at home are making him feel welcome in his new cell.”

“You know Crixus will be, he’s still upset that he wasn’t invited to these games.” Harry said, then he yawned and leaned more against Barca.

“I will be having words with him if he isn’t.” Barca insisted. “Your two goats did a number on him overnight too. Hamilcar told me that they took it in turns to sleep while the other kept Gnaeus awake, they haven’t let him sleep or have a moment’s peace.”

“Just an hour with either of them and Gnaeus would be considered sufficiently tortured.” Varro laughed.

“I still can’t believe he’s thrown away everything he’s worked for, thrown away his entire life, just because Ashur told him that I was cursed.” Harry said, shaking his head. “Ashur must have truly gotten into his head, to make him think that I was cursed, that I was dangerous and needed to be killed. I just don’t understand why Gnaeus believed him, of all people. To trust the word of Ashur is to invite death.”

“A fact well learned.” Barca said grimly, his hand raising to his shoulder and clamping over the phantom feeling of pain and injury. An injury now well healed and not even scarred, but the memory of it would always remain. He would always remember the day that he had put his trust in the wrong person, the day that he had almost lost everything. The thought seized his heart and he held Harian closer to him, wishing that he could also hold Pietros. The two boys he had almost left behind with his unwarranted death, his beautiful, delicate boys whom he loved and adored.

Harry accepted the huge, heavy bag of coin that Doctore handed to him when he arrived back with the medicus, a slimy looking man, but with delicate, gentle hands. For his care and his patience, Harry took a handful of coins from his purse and handed them to the man, who looked at him in shock. Harry doubted that anyone ever tipped him, or at least, not in anything more than a copper coin here or there.

“This…it won’t need stitching, just some care and cleaning. If watched and cleaned dutifully it won’t fester and it should heal cleanly.” The medicus said.

“ _Thank you_. Gratitude.” Harry said, first in English, and then in Latin after realising his mistake, before curling into Barca in relief as he was given another drink of more herbs and fuck knew what else to take away his pain.

Shortly after that Spartacus and Varro were called forward and Doctore chained them together with wide, leather belts that tied around their waists. The chain was heavy, thick and not overly long. It would be cumbersome and unwieldy. Harry wished them luck with a small burst of power, more to let them know that he cared for them than anything else. He just didn’t have the magic to spare for anything else.

“If I can beat four opponents on my own then you can beat anyone, any number, while chained together.” He said seriously. “Come back soon, though, okay? I need to sleep and I want to do it with Barca and Pietros in our bed.”

His brothers laughed at him, but promised to come back soon. Harry couldn’t watch them fight, he just couldn’t, but he knew that Barca wanted to watch them fight, as he always did, so he made a little nest of sorts near the grille, padding it out with the four cloaks they had worn to the arena, his own and his brothers’, and he curled up on them, facing away from the sands, but allowing Barca to both be near him, able to keep a hand on him at all times, but also allowed him to watch and commentate on the match. He only told Harry when Spartacus and Varro were doing well, Harry didn’t think that that was a coincidence, and he loved Barca for it.

Of course Spartacus, the champion of Capua, and Varro, a brilliant fighter in his own right, were victorious in the arena. They slayed all their opponents, the last by strangulation when they wrapped the heavy chain that they were tethered together with around the gladiator’s neck, pulling so tightly that eventually, with such force, the chain decapitated their opponent and they were declared the victors of the primus.

“They’ve won.” Barca told him gently.

Harry let out a shaky, relieved breath. “Thank fuck for that.”

“We will go back to the ludus now, we will collect Pietros, and we will sleep and rest.”

Harry chuckled. “I will sleep and rest, you will ravage poor Pietros until he is unable to walk or stand in a celebration of a warrior’s victory.”

Barca grinned unrepentantly. “I need to share my victory with those I love. You will be in no state to indulge me, that leaves only Pietros.”

“You take liberties in our absence, brother!” Varro complained good naturedly as he came in and saw that Harry had liberated his cloak.

“No, brother, I make use of your cloak.” Harry giggled. “I was in need of a bed.”

“Very comfortable you have made yourself too.” Spartacus grinned.

Harry grinned back and squirmed on the nest of cloaks. The three older men all snorted at his actions, like village elders indulging a mischievous child.

“Up you get.” Doctore told them, then he took note of Harry. He gave a rare smile. “I see you are rested, Harian.”

“Not so much rested, Doctore, but I am regaining some much needed energy for the long walk home.”

“Come along, we will be back at the ludus soon.”

Harry sighed, but he stood, grimacing at the pain pinching in his side.

“Harian, do you need the medicus?” Doctore asked immediately, coming to lay a hand over the wrapped wound.

“No, Doctore. It just pinches now and then. It needs to be kept clean.”

“You will go straight to the medicus at the ludus and you will stay there until it has scabbed over and will not cause infection.”

Harry scowled and looked at Barca. “I was going to sleep with Barca and Pietros.”

“Your health is more important than your comfort.” Doctore told him seriously. “You will report straight to the medicus, am I clear?”

Harry sighed, but he nodded. “Yes, Doctore.”

Barca threw an arm around him and Harry smiled up at him.

“I will have to take a rain check on our plans, Barca. I will sleep with you and Pietros again, when I am able.”

They shared a last kiss, and then they were chained together again. Harry was in front of Barca, but behind Varro. They trudged, slowly, back to the ludus.

“I’m so tired. Varro, hold me.” Harry complained as he rested his weight on Varro’s back.

Varro laughed. “Stand on your own two feet, we’re almost there.”

Harry giggled. “I can’t wait. I’m so tired. Barca, once you’ve finished romping with Pietros, you need to come and see me in the medicus’ rooms and make sure he’s not touching me with those filthy hands that I hate.”

“The medicus assaults you?” Doctore asked, alarmed.

“Oh, no, Doctore. I just don’t like his hands. I think Barca would remove them if he did touch me in such a way… _I_ would remove them if he touched me in such a way.”

“I would remove something else from him.” Barca promised darkly.

The trip seemed to take twice as long as the walk to the arena, but Harry was just utterly relieved that he’d survived, though he was now incredibly tired and in need of a drink and some much needed sleep. He’d sleep for a week after that match. He wanted to see Pietros as well, to stop his fretting. He was actually alive, now he wanted Pietros to know that he was alive too.

The cheering for Spartacus and Varro started as they appeared through the gates to the training sands, then Harry came in, smiling tiredly, followed by Barca.

“You actually fucking survived?” Crixus shouted at him from where he was stood watching, having been practicing with Rabanus.

“Don’t sound so surprised.” Harry teased. “I’m very hard to kill, you won’t be rid of me so easily!”

“The gods favour you, even against impossible odds.” Donar told him.

“Did you use missio?” Hamilcar asked him.

“No, I killed all four of them.” Harry said easily, as if it hadn’t been the hardest, most exhausting thing he’d ever done.

Pietros was there then, holding him, sobbing, reaching out a grasping hand for Barca, who stepped closer and allowed Pietros to claw at his cloak.

“I thought…I thought…I’m so happy to have you both back.” He said.

“We’re both fine, Pietros.” Harry said gently.

“Those wrappings say otherwise.” Crixus pointed out.

Harry sighed as Pietros then took note of the new wrappings around his belly.

“I’m upright and walking, aren’t I?” Harry rolled his eyes. “It really is just a scratch.”

“You need to see the medicus.” Pietros said sternly and Harry smiled at him. He reached forward and pulled the taller boy into a kiss.

“I’m going now.” He said. “I just wanted to make sure that you were alright first.”

“Barca, before you disappear with your boys, come and tell us how tiny actually won!” Crixus demanded. “I would hear of such a tale from one who had witnessed it.”

“Pietros, go and settle Harian into bed.” Barca said gently. “I will follow once errant children have had their bedtime stories.”

Harry giggled at that, but he was pulled by Pietros towards the medicus’ rooms. Harry sighed, but he allowed it. Pietros was obviously fretting about the wound, and Harry would not have it be so.

He sat on the nearest bed and the medicus sighed. He’d been waiting, expecting an injury or two after the games.

“Is it bad?” The medicus asked as Harry started unwrapping his own linen bandage.

“No, just a scratch. I avoided the spear, but it just caught my skin. It’s more annoyance than anything else. It needs to be kept clean, so Doctore sent me here.”

Harry pulled off the wrappings and Pietros steeled himself, and looked at the wound. He blew out a breath and relaxed. Harry looked at it then, and he saw that the bleeding had already stopped, though it was a bit messy still. Suddenly it didn’t look as bad as it had on the sands…though it still fucking stung.

“This is but a scratch, it’ll heal in a week or two.” The medicus said as he took a rag and a bowl of water and started washing over and around the cut. “How are fingers and toes?”

“Sore and slightly swollen.” Harry said, holding up his hands.

The medicus lightly held on to his fingers. “These are hot to the touch. I will make you herbs so that you might sleep.”

Harry nodded and he sighed.

“Is it infection?” Pietros asked worriedly, looking between Harry and the medicus.

“No.” They both said together.

Harry smiled. “When fingers and toes swell the skin does become hot to the touch, it doesn’t mean infection, Pietros.”

The boy nodded, but he didn’t look overly convinced. He only settled when the medicus started grinding up herbs and Barca strode in.

“Our brothers drink to your surprising victory, tiny.” He grinned. “They cannot believe you killed two men inside the first minute, nor that you killed the third with the fourth’s own spear.”

Harry snorted. “I still need more training against the spear. As soon as I am up and able, I would have you on the sands, Barca.”

Barca laughed then, a genuine laugh and both Harry and Pietros smiled to hear it. Barca rarely truly laughed, most of the time it was fake, or just for show.

“What has the medicus said, do you yet live?” Barca teased.

“It is but a scratch, look.” Harry said, lifting the cloth he was dabbing on the wound and showing off the thin line. “It is already starting to heal.” He added with a wink.

“His fingers are swollen and hot.” Pietros told Barca.

“Completely normal for such injuries.” Harry assured. “As soon as the swelling goes down then the heat will vanish also. There is no need to fret over such things. I’m going to be completely fine and well.”

“I wish for you to remain here for two days and nights, then I will release you back to the sands.” The medicus said, coming over with another bitter drink of herbs to put him to sleep.

Harry nodded his understanding and he took the cup. He turned back to Barca and Pietros. He smiled at them and puckered his lips. Pietros got to him a moment before Barca did, purely because he did not have to bend down quite so far. Harry turned his head for a kiss from Barca then and he sighed.

“I will likely sleep the night away now, but there is no reason for you both to do the same.” He winked again, this time more salaciously. “Go and enjoy yourselves, and the three massive victories for our ludus that we all won tonight. Come and see me tomorrow though, I get lonely. Oh, bring my sleeping tunic too, I get cold without you both.”

“I will get it now.” Pietros said, dashing out of the rooms like a little hare.

“We will be back to see you in the morning, if you do not yet sleep.” Barca swore. “Just get some rest, Harian.”

Harry nodded and he stripped himself in preparation for his sleeping tunic, taking off his travelling cloak and his little subligaria. He was still dirty, grubby and bloody, he even felt the slight scratching that indicated he had sand on him still, but he was used to that sensation now and it no longer bothered him as much as it had when he had first arrived.

Pietros came hurrying back with the tiny tunic and dutifully helped Harry dress in it. It was roughspun and grey, a slave’s tunic, but Harry didn’t care. It hit him an inch or so above the knee…boys’ tunics were rather short, it was the girls’ tunics that were floor length. But it had short sleeves and if he was truly cold he could pull his arms into it and curl up under his scratchy blanket for more warmth.

With an unhappy sigh Harry, now dressed in his tunic, turned back to his bitter drink. Like a potion he knocked it back in one go, giving a hard, painful swallow to get it all down and then he grimaced and gagged, shaking his head in reflexive disgust.

“You do not even react so when you swallow me down.” Barca said amusedly.

“I like swallowing you down.” Harry replied. “You taste better than _this_!” He insisted, holding up the cup before putting it down on the table beside him. “I would rather suck you both dry than take bitter herbs.”

Barca smirked this time, in that smug, male way and Pietros’ cheeks heated slightly, but he grinned also.

“Go on, go and enjoy one another.” He shooed. “I will still be here, perhaps even still sleeping, by the morning. Oh! Barca, here.”

Harry reached to the side of himself, where he had put his untied subligaria, and he picked up the massive, heavy purse of coin. He handed it over to Barca with a smile.

“Just in case it goes missing in the night. Now I can rest and go to sleep.” He said happily, laying himself down and allowing Pietros to tuck him in.

“You must have over a thousand Denarii by now.” Barca said consideringly. “A considerable sum, Harian. Perhaps Dominus would allow you to walk free in exchange for such amount of coin.”

Harry smiled whimsically. “Perhaps. I will ask him in the aftermath of such a victory, but first I need to sleep.”

Barca nodded. He pressed a kiss to Harry’s forehead and Pietros dived to kiss a soft, pale cheek. They watched and waited until Harry’s breaths evened out, until he was asleep, and the medicus shooed them away.

They walked back to their own cell in silence, where Barca placed Harian’s new purse of coin with the others. It was a large pile of purses. Harian had amassed a fortune on his own luck and skill, paired with overwhelmingly terrible odds as the people continuously underestimated him. They constantly expected him to die on the sands, seeing only his tiny boy’s body and not the skill underneath, and then pairing him with more and more gladiators in order to test him, as his odds soared in favour of his opponents, allowing a single coin placed on himself to win such a vast fortune. None more so than this last fight, the odds had been ridiculously high, almost equal to the winnings he should have expected after his wager with Ashur on the Theokoles fight. He’d heard no more word on such, but he was unwilling to press when Dominus and he were talking freedom. He’d already risked that future for himself and Pietros once, he would not do so again. It was a massive blow though, to lose so much coin, not just the winnings, but the original coin he had bet on the fight with too. He hoped that Harian remembered his promise, to kill the snake the moment he showed his face again. He was itching to kill Ashur himself, but he couldn’t risk his and Pietros’ freedom and killing Dominus’ little pet would surely do as such. Harian had assured him that he could kill from a distance and make it look natural. Barca wanted to see as such before he left the ludus.

“Barca?”

Barca blinked and he looked over at Pietros and smiled at his boy.

“Everything will be well, Pietros.” He assured his delicate heart.

Pietros smiled and opened his arms for him. “Why don’t you come and show me as such.”

Barca grinned, again all in manly pride, and he stalked to his cot, to his boy and he reached down to heft Pietros up and into his own arms. He kissed his boy deeply, passionately, and he left them both breathless.

“You kiss with purpose.” Pietros panted.

“My only purpose is set to loving you.” Barca replied breathlessly.

He turned and he laid Pietros down on the bed and he laid on top of him, kissing him, touching him, loving him. When they were free he would buy them a nice, big bed. Large enough to comfortably hold all three of them and soft enough that they could happily stay there all day if needed, though they never would, as they would need to tend to the farm. He smiled at his own daydreams as he took a moment to breathe, Pietros already moaning and squirming under him, fighting to remove his clothing. Barca grinned at him and set back to distracting him with kisses. It wouldn’t be long now and he could spirit Pietros away from this place, away to a new life, one as a free man.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ X

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: We have just 4 chapters left now, lovelies, things are going to start moving along, so a lot is going to happen in these last 4 chapters. Poor Harry can’t catch a break, and there’s worse still to come.  
> Though I think he did really well in his four on one match. He did really well to take them down to a more even playing field, even if it is considered ‘dishonourable’…dishonourable my tits, Harry should, and will, use even more magic in the arena. He’s still only 14, poor boy.  
> Anyway, let me know what you think, lovelies, and I’ll see you again next week,
> 
> StarLight Massacre. X


	11. Poena et Venenum

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last Time
> 
> “You kiss with purpose.” Pietros panted.
> 
> “My only purpose is set to loving you.” Barca replied breathlessly.
> 
> He turned and he laid Pietros down on the bed and he laid on top of him, kissing him, touching him, loving him. When they were free he would buy them a nice, big bed. Large enough to comfortably hold all three of them and soft enough that they could happily stay there all day if needed, though they never would, as they would need to tend to the farm. He smiled at his own daydreams as he took a moment to breathe, Pietros already moaning and squirming under him, fighting to remove his clothing. Barca grinned at him and set back to distracting him with kisses. It wouldn’t be long now and he could spirit Pietros away from this place, away to a new life, one as a free man.

Chapter Eleven – Poena et Venenum

Harry was groggy and in pain when he next woke. He had a feeling that it was the pain that had forced its way through the medicating herbs to wake him up so suddenly. It was dark in the medicus’ rooms, but that meant little, it was always dark in here as there were no fucking windows.

He moaned and tried to find a more comfortable place to lie, but the beds here were so hard he might have been better off sleeping on the fucking sand.

“Ah, you awaken.”

Harry looked over, squinting through his pain to see the medicus shuffle over to him.

“Here, I had this prepared for you, it’s a half dose, as you should have had yesterday. It will take away the pain.”

“Gratitude.” Harry said, knocking it back in one and swallowing.

“Your boy keeps coming in to check on you. Barca came this morning while you still slept, but he is currently training.”

Harry nodded his understanding and he moaned unhappily as he tried to shift into a more comfortable position.

“Lay still.” The medicus told him. “Let the herbs do their work.”

Harry sighed and he did as told. He had ample time to think, hearing the sometimes noises from the training sands outside, the occasional whack of wooden sword on wooden equipment, a yell or a scream. He thought about Pietros and Barca, the thoughts bringing a dopey smile to his face. He thought of how well Duro and Agron had come on. He thought of Crixus, who was healing rapidly and would soon be back where he belonged…in the arena. He thought of how Donar might be coping in the dice games, or knucklebones, without him there as his ‘lucky amulet’, he laughed a little to himself over that. He thought of Spartacus and Varro, who had won such a great victory together last night. They would both be buzzing because of that. He sighed heavily as his thoughts turned to Ron and Hermione. How were they? What were they doing? He wondered, not for the first time either, if everything was normal back in his own time, if the other ‘him’ was still there and filling in while he was stuck here. He had a delirious thought then, caused by the medicating, likely hallucinogenic, herbs…was he even the real Harry? Maybe the real Harry was still at Hogwarts, and this version of himself was the one split away with the time sand. His head throbbed and he moaned again, lifting a hand to rub at his head.

He breathed in deeply and let it out again, such thoughts were useless to him. It didn’t matter if he was the original Harry, the one caused by the time sand, or whatever, all that mattered was that he was a conscious ‘Harry’ and he was here, in this time. He still had all of his old memories, he still had his magic, he was still Harry fucking Potter, and he was stuck here, perhaps for the rest of his miserable life. At least he had friends…at least he had Barca and Pietros.

“You’re awake!”

Pietros’ bright, happy voice broke through his melancholic thoughts and he turned to look at Barca and Pietros with a small smile.

“I have already been told that I slept the morning away.” He said, thankful for the distraction.

“It is noon.” Pietros nodded, indicating the bowl and cup he held. “Are you hungry?”

“Not particularly.” He sighed.

“Are you pained?” Barca asked him then, looking at him closely.

Harry shook his head. “Medicus has already given me herbs for the pain, Barca. I ache now more than anything.” He said, looking at his still swollen fingers. They looked sore and raw today.

Barca kissed his forehead, making Harry smile weakly, and his oldest lover sat next to him with his own cup and bowl, and he started eating.

Pietros fussed him a little more, making sure he was still tucked in, that the flat, barely there pillow was still under his head and neck. He then started feeding him small pieces of bread dipped in the porridge, almost like he was one of the birds.

“Eat for yourself.” Harry said with a smile. “I am full. I’ve spent the night and half the day resting. I don’t need to eat much.”

“How is your ability?” Barca asked softly, casting a glance at the busy medicus in the next room.

“Almost full and almost back to normal. I’ve already set it to task in healing myself. Not too quickly, to avoid suspicion, but I will be completely fine soon, and ready to fight in the games against Pompeii with no lingering pain or injury, and free from distraction.”

Barca nodded and held out his own cup to him. Harry took a few swallows before he pushed the cup away. He smiled adoringly up at his two lovers and he tried not to think about what would happen after the games against Pompeii…when Barca and Pietros would have to say goodbye to him, perhaps forever. He rested back in the bed with a groan and he tried to push such thoughts from his mind. He would not think on such things, Barca and Pietros had both been here longer than he had, Barca had been here several years longer and had already seen the death of two lovers, they deserved their freedom, they deserved their chance at happiness and Harry would not spoil that with selfish thoughts of keeping them here, in servitude, in _slavery_ , to face injury or even death, just because he would miss them once they were gone.

“You still looked pained.” Pietros told him.

“It is just a sore ache, I swear.” Harry said with a smile, unwilling to admit that the pain seen in his expression was one born of the heart, not the physical body. “Though it does hurt to move about.”

“Then lay still.” Barca told him sternly.

Harry pouted. “But I hate being still.”

Barca snorted in amusement. “Then see that the medicus returns you to your dreams. Today we host a stupid boy and his desires to see gladiators up close. He will arrive within the hour to see us train on the sands. Then tonight, he becomes a Roman man and there will be an exhibition match between Spartacus and Crixus for his entertainment.”

“Oh, good.” Harry said with a smile. “Crixus finally sees his wish to spar against Spartacus once more come true, perhaps now I need not fear sparring with him upon the sands! I have actually gone over the edge of the cliff, and I have absolutely no wish to ever do so again.”

“I would make sure such a thing never happens again.” Barca insisted. “Gnaeus is to be punished tomorrow, instead of tonight, due to stupid boy’s party. He has been given water, but no food. Your goats are still prodding and taunting him, they find amusement in it.”

“I told you I liked goats very much.” He giggled. “German goats in particular.”

Barca snorted and just looked at him with a smile. Harry loved receiving that look from Barca. A look free from worry or cares, a look that made him seem younger, less care worn and world-weary. It was a good look on Barca. Harry hoped that he wore that look every single day when he was a free man.

“Go on, shoo.” The medicus said, coming into the room and waving his arms at Barca and Pietros. “He needs to rest and he needs to sleep.”

“It seems you get your wish, Barca, my love. I am to be put back into my dreams.”

“It is the best place for you.” Barca agreed. “We will come back to see you tonight, after the last meal, and then again before we retire to bed.”

Harry nodded and he grimaced as he was once again handed a cup of ground herbs in water. He knocked them all back and he settled himself down to sleep. He smiled softly when he felt first one pair of lips kiss his own, and then a second pair. He drifted off to sleep with the aid of the herbs, not knowing what horrors were going to be unleashed that night.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ X

It was Spartacus’ job to show the boy around, as Numerius’ personal favourite. He’d already had to pull the boy, gently, away from the edge of the cliff. He could just imagine what would happen to him, to all of them, if the boy fell to his death. He’d had his fill of boys falling from the edge of the cliff with Gnaeus throwing Harian over.

Then when Crixus battered poor Duro in a sparring match…Harian would be incredibly upset and angry with Crixus for that, though as Duro refused to stay down, even when he was soundly beat and would have been killed in the arena, Spartacus joined in the small round of applause, explaining to the befuddled boy by his side that it was out of respect that they did so. That Duro’s bravery and endurance were worthy traits for a gladiator. Spartacus wondered if some of Harian’s stubborn nature had rubbed off on Duro during their training, he had never given in on the sands and always stood back to his feet too, though he had never been as thoroughly beat as Duro.

“But, where is Harian?” Numerius asked curiously, looking all around the sands, and into the shadows, to try and spot him. “He was so calm and confident on the sands, despite being against four opponents, I could not believe what I was seeing as I watched him. For him to actually win such a match, and Batiatus says that he is only fourteen, younger than I am.”

“Apologies, but Harian took a small wound in that match from the Hoplomachus’ spear, he is with our medicus, making sure he does not gain an infection.” Spartacus said. He’d been to see Harian twice, but both times he had been asleep due to the herbs given to him. Barca had said he had been awake at noon and they had shared a meal, but Harian had been put back to sleep soon after.

“Can we see him?” The boy asked excitedly. “I wish to know if he is as beautiful as the rumours say.”

Spartacus hesitated, especially hearing the reason why the boy wanted to see Harian, but he couldn’t refuse. He was a slave and the boy a free Roman citizen. He sighed and took a steadying breath and he escorted the boy to the medicus’ room, to find Harian peacefully sleeping in a bed.

He was very beautiful, even in sleep. His hair was tousled, his mouth just barely parted as he breathed softly. Long, dark lashes stood out against pale skin and a small hand was curled up beside his head, on the thin pillow. He looked tiny, small and delicate, and not at all like a gladiator. He looked like the boy whore he had originally been set to be, but there was a fire in him, a furious, almost violent need to prove himself, to show that he was just as good as the rest of them, better than most, and he had achieved as such over and over again. He had won his last match, not two days ago, against _four_ opponents, on his own. Spartacus had watched him do it, he had watched in awe as his tiny, fourteen year old friend had bested four gladiators with a seeming ease that enflamed the crowd and had them baying for more of their favoured Harian. Their Harian who could do the impossible.

“He is even more beautiful than I imagined.” Numerius said in a soft, wistful tone. “What colour are his eyes? Blue?” He added that last in an almost hopeful tone.

“Green.” Spartacus bit out.

Numerius turned to him suddenly. “Green? Truly?” Spartacus nodded tightly, he didn’t like this at all.

The boy reached out and touched the sleeping Harian gently, almost as if the sleeping boy was a wild animal that would rear up and bite him. Spartacus almost wished that he was.

Gaining more confidence, Numerius touched more surely, petting Harian’s soft, tousled hair, stroking over his face as if he were a lover and Spartacus tried to think of something to distract the boy from Harian. He wondered where the damn medicus was hiding.

“Where was he injured? His side, wasn’t it?” Numerius asked as he started pulling the blanket from Harian’s body, looking for the wound. Though as he fully removed the blanket, Spartacus had doubts that the boy wanted to see the wound as opposed to just seeing more of Harian’s soft, pale skin.

Harian was in just a short sleeping tunic, his bare legs were tucked up to his body, but they showed off an awful lot and the boy, Numerius, let out a breathy sigh.

He suddenly pushed up the sleeping tunic, exposing everything as Harian was bare underneath the tunic, and he found the covered, tightly wrapped wound on his side. Numerius barely glanced at it, his eyes were fixed on Harian’s bare bottom, as smooth and as pert as a ripe peach. Spartacus really didn’t like this, and Barca would truly turn into the Beast of Carthage if he saw.

“Perhaps we should leave him to rest.” He tried. “He could die if he gains an infection and it will be a long time until he is back in the arena if he does get an infection.”

“A moment longer.” Numerius said, but their moment was cut short when Numerius reached out to touch Harian’s bottom with gentle fingertips.

The sleeping boy stirred and stretched out his legs at the terribly intimate touch. The action covered him to the backs of his thighs and Spartacus breathed silently in relief. Harian’s eyes screwed up, and then he shivered and curled back up again. He thankfully remained covered.

“Is…is he cold?” Numerius asked unsurely.

“Yes, these rooms are rather cold absent direct sunlight, and when one is injured, it can seem more so. Best cover him back up before he wakes up, or gains a chill. His odds of surviving a sickness while already injured is not very high.”

Numerius nodded this time and Spartacus sent up a prayer to all the gods when the boy picked up the blanket that he had pulled from Harian and covered him back over.

“Come, let me show you the bathing room. Then we will see to training. I would see how much you remember.” Spartacus persisted and he was finally rewarded when Numerius stepped away from Harian and turned back to him, following him out of the medicus’ rooms, and far away from the drugged Harian.

He would be glad when the boy was declared a man tonight and was gone from the ludus and the villa. Though he had little doubt that he would be back, the gleam in those eyes promised it and Spartacus hated the very thought that this boy, who would become a man that night, was already planning on coming back, perhaps to ask for Harian as Licinia had asked for him. His fist clenched at the very memory of that deception, as he remembered pulling the mask off the woman he had fucked several times and finding Ilithyia instead of the promised Licinia.

Thankfully he didn’t have to entertain the little shit for much longer, just several practice bouts on the sands while his brothers pretended that they were civilised and encouraging men under the stern gaze of their Doctore, who had his whip coiled tightly in his hand, ready to be used at a moment’s notice, before Numerius was called back up to the ludus to bathe and prepare for that evening.

“You look ready to slaughter entire villa.” Varro told him. “What happened?”

“That little shit happened.” Spartacus hissed. “He asked to see Harian, despite me telling him that he was drugged and abed. The way he looked at him, touched him, pawing at him while he was asleep. I have not wanted to kill anymore more than when I faced Theokoles.”

Varro nodded then, understandingly. “It is the dilemma of all slaves.” He said sadly. “We are stripped of choice in such matters. You could not have stopped the boy if he had wanted to rape Harian then and there.”

Spartacus breathed out heavily and clenched his fist. Such a thought sickened him. He would not have stood by and watched as Harian was raped while drugged and injured. He knew that he couldn’t have done so, he would have tried to stop it, and then where would he and Harian be?

He didn’t tell Barca about what had happened in the medicus’ rooms. He didn’t want to be the one to tell the Beast of Carthage that he had stood by and watched as his drugged lover was groped and molested. He hoped that nothing came of it and keeping his silence didn’t come back to bite his arse.

Doctore called an end to their ‘training’ soon after and a hand selected few were told to go and bathe and prepare themselves for the exhibition, oiling themselves up and wearing their armour like a costume for the sole reason of being paraded in front of such important guests. Himself, Varro, Crixus, Barca, Hamilcar, Rhaskos, Pollux, Donar, and Litaviccus were the ones called. Harian had been asked for as well, but Dominus had had to decline as such, considering Harian was in a drugged sleep and was in no state to be presented. The boy had wanted ten of them to be presented, but he had not put forward a name to replace Harian, thus they remained at nine and their remaining brothers, those who were staying down in the ludus, helped them to prepare themselves. Pietros was lovingly oiling up Barca, with a lot more relish than anyone else was displaying, and Barca kept smiling down at his boy, petting his head or touching his cheek. It made Spartacus smile to see their love…then he felt pain in his heart as he thought of Harian, who would have assuredly been teasing Barca too if he was here, perhaps mirroring Pietros and sliding his hands over Barca’s other leg. He felt guilt eat at him, for having watched anyone other than Barca or Pietros lay their hands on Harian. He blew out a heavy breath and saw to his own preparations.

“Barca, put your boy down!” Crixus complained as the two embraced and kissed.

Immediately there were laughs and jeers and teasing aimed at Barca and Pietros.

“He misses his other tiny boy!” Hamilcar laughed.

“It is strange feeling to have two boys when I can only lay hands on one.” Barca answered, placing both hands on Pietros’ shoulders.

“How is our tiny brother?” Donar asked.

“He sleeps.” Barca said distractedly as Pietros tightened the belt around his waist, giving teasing touches to his back and sides.

“Are injuries healing?”

“Yes. The wound from spear is almost healed, it presents no danger. His fingers and toes are starting to heal and the swelling is going down. Soon he will be able to hold sword and shield again and he will be back on the sands with us.”

“He will be back to his irritating self soon.” Crixus snorted. “Enjoy the peace while we have it, brothers.”

Their brothers started teasing and taunting Crixus then.

“You love tiny brother!” Rabanus laughed.

“He grows on the heart like affectionate whore who gives cunt for free.” Leviticus insisted.

Spartacus had to laugh at that one and he wasn’t the only one either. But his brothers were all right in a way, Harian had a unique way of just worming his way into the heart of those around him, inciting them to care for him and love him.

He was so small, so delicate looking with his slim body and stick like limbs that he reminded Spartacus of the fawns back home in Thrace. Harian was a tiny fawn and he needed to be protected and cared for. He had only ever hunted adult deer, and never does with fawns. He looked at Harian and he saw an orphaned fawn and perhaps that was why Harian had been able to get so close to him so quickly. He just looked up at him, from his tiny height, with those large, brilliantly green eyes, and Spartacus wanted to do anything and everything he could to help and protect him. He was sure that it was the same for all of them, those eyes and pouted lips were dangerous.

Others had had sons when they’d been captured and enslaved. They saw Harian as the embodiment of their lost sons, thus they looked out for him, taught him things he needed to know, in place of those sons they could never see again.

Even Doctore put up with more nonsense from Harian than he would from any of the rest of them. He had more patience for Harian, more care towards him. Harian had even won over the two new recruits, the Germans, Agron and Duro, in a matter of weeks, even though he’d been involved in the teasing and hazing of them as raw recruits.

“Are you not ready yet?” Doctore demanded, coming into the bathing room to check on them. “Hurry yourselves!”

Spartacus slipped into his manica, the protective sleeve that covered him from shoulder to wrist and then over the back of his hand, buckling each strap carefully and tightly over the padded sleeve he wore underneath it, as he was to fight later that night, even if it was only an exhibition match against Crixus, while Varro, finished preparing himself and ready for the exhibition, hunched down and fixed his ocrea in place for him, covering his lower legs over the padded fascia.

He had been given blue to wear tonight and he made sure the linen was wrapped perfectly and that his balteus, the wide leather sword belt, was settled over his gut perfectly to protect it. It was embroidered with blue and it had a boss on the front of a fearsome face…the face on his manica was that of a lion, which only made the decorative fur around his shoulder look more like a mane.

“Your thoughts are heavy tonight.” Varro said quietly.

Spartacus sighed. “My thoughts lie with Harian, and the outrage that was committed on his body tonight.”

“He was not outraged.” Varro calmed. “He was touched, not raped and he will never know of such, and…you are thinking that the boy will come back when Harian is not sleeping.” He said suddenly, realising the direction of his thoughts.

Spartacus nodded. “I would not speak of such things where danger lies.” He nodded to the nearby Barca.

“Understandable, Harian would not give you gratitude for such either. He wishes to see Barca and Pietros away from these walls, not watch as Barca is crucified for killing a little shit for something he will not remember.”

Spartacus sighed and inclined his head, just once. He knew Harian’s thoughts on the matter, how he wished to see his two lovers freed, yet being intelligent enough to know not to expect it for himself. It was such a selfless act of sacrifice that it made his heart twinge every time the topic was brought up, as Harian was unlikely to ever see his two lovers again once they split, at least, not in this life.

It was a sad reality, that as Harian fought incredibly well in the arena, the crowds were not yet finished with him, they wanted to see more, they wanted to watch him pitted against more opponents, in more dangerous, handicapped matches. He had no hope for freedom while the crowds bayed for him to appear in more matches, Batiatus would never allow him his freedom while such ample coin could be made off of him, and their Dominus was making excessive amounts of coin from both himself, and Harian too, enough so that he had started living, and decorating his villa, lavishly.

They were all lined up and they trudged up to the villa above and they were lined up again, their Doctore was stood straight and stern, observing them with watchful eyes. Numerius was there, looking at them all with hero worship in his eyes. Spartacus caught his eye and the boy looked away quickly, he frowned at the odd behaviour. Perhaps in the light of the villa the boy regretted how he had acted with Harian? Or he was embarrassed that he had let himself get so carried away with him there as a witness perhaps.

The night was slow for all of them, being touched and pawed at, having women, and men too, stroke over their hard bodies, just because they wanted to marvel at them…he had to keep breathing and just look out into the middle distance, feeling the touches to his body and not reacting to them.

It seemed to take an absolute age before the night was coming to an end and the exhibition match was called…only…only he wasn’t to be facing Crixus as expected, the boy wanted him to face Varro instead.

He shared a look with the humiliated Crixus, who clenched his jaw and a fist as he was forced back into line with the others. He had been looking forward to this exhibition match, he wanted to show that he was back to perfect fitness, that he could still be counted as a champion of Capua, but now he was being denied that chance yet again. It was more salt in already salted wound.

“I believe that Crixus would be the better opponent.” He said, even as he stepped forward. “I fear match against Varro would be overly short.” He directed that last to the curly haired Roman with a wink.

“No, I want to see Varro. I believe Crixus has seen his best days past.” Numerius said, almost sullenly, like a young child still. He was meant to be turning into a man tonight, yet he was still more of a boy than Harian in more ways than could be counted.

Spartacus lost himself in the exhibition fight, ignoring the guests and their comments or gasps as he and Varro clashed again and again, laughing and smiling, almost as if they were down on the sands. Spartacus gasped and laughed as Varro caught his ribs with the tip of his blade, opening him up. He gave the grinning Varro a look and he laughed himself, diving back into the fight.

They clashed and turned, coming at one another with real steel, but despite that, it could have been any other day on the training sands.

An overextended lunge and Spartacus took immediate advantage of it, and had Varro on his knees, his blade ready for a downward thrust, the tip of it to his neck. They were both laughing and Spartacus looked up for the direction to allow Varro up, thus ending the exhibition match…it never came.

He stared in shock as the little shit who had molested a drugged Harian down in the ludus turned his thumb down and condemned Varro to death. There was something very wrong with the boy, there had to be.

“Apologies, Magistrate. It was agreed that this was an exhibition match only.” Batiatus said. “Not a fight to the death.”

“Numerius has cast his decision. I will reimburse you the price of the man.” Magistrate Calavius said disinterestedly, as if for all the care he took he was going to watch a man slay a chicken.

Spartacus looked desperately to Batiatus, begging him wordlessly to not make him do this. He could not slay his friend like this, for the fifteenth birthday of a little shit who wouldn’t stand a chance facing any of them. A little shit who clearly saw them as disposable, as mere objects to heighten his own life…his mind flashed to how he had touched Harian, the look on his fucking face as he uncovered the drugged boy just so that he could molest him. Spartacus looked to the little shit now, a preening boy and nothing more.

“Proceed.” Batiatus insisted.

“Do we have a problem, Batiatus?” The Magistrate had the gall to ask as Spartacus didn’t move.

“I said, proceed.”

He blinked and he saw the guards ringed around him, he looked to his Dominus, who had spoken the command, and still he didn’t move.

“Don’t.” Varro told him. “Don’t kill us both, there is no choice.”

“There is always a choice.” Spartacus said desperately.

“Not this time.”

Spartacus trembled, his heart racing and his head pounding.

“Spartacus.” Batiatus hissed.

He looked up, all but glaring at the man as the guards moved in closer.

“Don’t make me do this.” He said desperately.

“Proceed.”

“The guards will kill us both.” Varro hissed at him. “Do it.”

“I cannot…”

“You must. Live and see my family provided for, and know that I would have done the same.”

Spartacus was helpless as Varro grabbed the hilt of his sword and pulled it into his own body. His vision was blurred with tears and he shoved the blade in to the hilt, as deeply as he could, to prevent his friend from suffering. He threw the sword down and moved back as Varro slumped onto the tiled floor, dead.

The shits around him actually started applauding, laughing and joking about what they had just seen and Spartacus wanted to vomit. A hand on his arm had him turning furiously, but it was Doctore he encountered. Doctore who led him away and tried to comfort him, but there was nothing to be said now. He was a slave, but there had only ever been a handful of things keeping him from lashing out like the wild Thracian he was at heart. Sura had been one…Varro another. His tethers to complacent slavery were getting thinner. His only other friend was Harian, and he had seen the same shit who had ordered Varro’s death molest the boy earlier.

He breathed heavily, feeling his control splintering, he wanted to take up the sword again and slay every Roman in the room for what they were doing to him, to those around him. They were people, not cattle, not furniture or decoration. They were living, breathing people…and they deserved to be free. They should all be free.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ X

Harry woke up groggily to hands petting him and he squirmed and wriggled. He heard Pietros chuckling and he smiled before peeling open his eyes to squint up at his lover.

“I feel terrible.” Harry croaked.

“You slept for a long time.” Barca’s voice came from down by his feet and Harry turned to peer at him, smiling happily to see his other lover. He didn’t get a smile back, Barca wasn’t even looking at him.

Harry frowned and he turned to look at what Barca was looking at. All the breath left his body when he saw Varro’s dead, pale body on the table at the bottom of the room.

“What happened?” He asked, forcing himself to sit up. Pietros moved to support him, a strong, slim arm going across his back to keep him propped up.

“The boy, Numerius, called for Varro’s death in the exhibition match. Spartacus had no choice.” Barca said.

“Spartacus was to face Crixus.” Harry said confusedly, his groggy mind struggling against the drugging herbs that were making him slow and stupid.

“The boy refused Crixus and called for Varro instead. He said that Crixus was past his time, humiliating him in front of his brothers, in front of all of those people. Then, once Spartacus had bested Varro, after a very well fought exhibition match, the boy called for his death. We were forced to watch as brother killed beloved brother, and Spartacus has not been the same since. Our champion falls from training, lost in his grief.”

“I need to see him.” Harry said tiredly, easing himself up.

“You are still recovering yourself.” Pietros fretted.

“I feel fine, Pietros. I’m just a bit groggy from the herbs, that’s all. The wound in my side is closed without stitching, it’s healing now. The swelling in my fingers and toes is going down. I need to get up and start walking around now. Perhaps it would be easier with help though.”

Pietros took the hint and wrapped an arm around his waist, helping to support him as Harry made his way out of the medicus’ rooms, without permission yet again.

It was slow going, with a rather groggy Harry slowing them down, but Barca was on his other side, lending his body and strength when it was needed.

“Tiny. You return to us.” Fulco called out with a grin.

“No, I am not supposed to be up and about.” He answered with a tired smile.

“Then why have you left the medicus’ rooms?” The dark voice of their Doctore asked him.

“I heard about the events of last night. I saw Varro’s body.” He said seriously. “I need to see him.”

“He is in his cell.”

Harry nodded and he touched Barca and then Pietros and he made his way slowly over the sands to Spartacus’ cell. He didn’t knock, he doubted he would get an answer, he just walked in and shut the door behind him.

He went and sat beside Spartacus, who had ruined his little cell and was sat on the floor, his head in his hands. Harry eased down with a grunt, and that got his friend’s attention.

“You should not be out of the medicus’ rooms.” Spartacus told him gruffly.

Harry just smiled. “I could not leave you to suffer so alone. I would be here with you, in silence if needed, you only need to say, but I would be here regardless. You are my friend, and I will not see you grieve alone. He was my friend too and his loss affects us all. I am here for you.”

Harry moved to lay himself on Spartacus and he held him tight and the moment his hands touched bare skin, he started a soft, gentle exchange of magic. He soothed and comforted, all silently as he just held his friend and carried on the exchange. There was no pressure on Spartacus, and soon he was crying silently, and Harry didn’t judge him. He didn’t do anything, he didn’t stop the exchange, or start talking, he just remained silently holding his friend and flowing the magic through him in a comforting way, just letting Spartacus know that he was there for him.

“I killed him.” Spartacus whispered, feeling secure enough now to talk.

“You had no choice.” Harry assured gently. “He would have done the same.”

“He said he would have.” Spartacus told him.

“He knew you had no choice, he still loved you, he would have done exactly the same. He had a family to support, he would not have risked himself dying alongside you.”

“He told me to look after Aurelia and Janus.”

“Of course he did, he was only here to provide for them. To pay off his debts and become a stable provider for his wife and young son.”

“He was only going to be here for another year. Then his debts would have been paid. He was going to take his family to Sicilia, to start over without shadow of the arena looming over them.”

“This was a dangerous choice for him to make.” Harry said. “He danced with death all through his training, with every arena appearance. He knew that he could just as easily end up dead.”

“I swore I would provide for his family.”

“Then do so.” Harry said softly. “Look after them and remember him as you do so and know that he would love you for holding to his last words, for doing as he asked.”

Spartacus held him tighter then, absorbing the comfort he offered and Harry could see that his brow was lighter, his eyes less haunted. He felt relieved that he had helped to unburned his friend a little. He snuggled in and turned his magic to heat, warming the body next to him, sending through love and acceptance. Harry thought no differently of the man in his arms for what he had been forced to do.

It took perhaps an hour or so before Spartacus fell asleep on him and Harry smiled. A large surge of magic and the room was fixed to the best of his abilities and he levitated Spartacus to his bed, exerting serious control and concentration so that he didn’t drop his friend and wake him, or even hurt him.

He tucked the blanket over Spartacus and kissed his forehead, sighing sadly. The guilt of being forced to kill Varro would eat him alive if it was left unchecked. Harry made a point then to stay closer to Spartacus. He would be feeling lonely, perhaps even isolated, sad, and guilty surely, and he may even start slipping into depression. Harry would need to watch that closely.

He cursed again the predicament they were all in, slaves without options or choices, expected to carry on after such tragedies as if they had no thoughts or feelings of their own, their ‘masters’ uncaring of what they were going through or what it could lead to, not caring for their quality of life or their wellbeing, either physical or mental. Or at least, they didn’t care past the coin they earned, or were worth.

His hands clenched tight and his head swam in anger, even as a temper tear rolled down his cheek. Being from the time he was, the very thought of slavery was completely abhorrent to him, it was a foreign concept, but here, it was the other way around for millions of people…people like Pietros who were born into slavery and knew absolutely nothing else, it was freedom to them that was the foreign concept and it made Harry feel sick to his stomach. Something had to be done.

“Harian.”

He smiled automatically at the worry in Pietros’ voice, trying to ease him down immediately.

“I’m okay.” He said as he sat next to his lover. “Spartacus is in a bad way, but he is now asleep. It is a terrible thing to have to kill a brother. In a mere exhibition match?” Harry shook his head. “It should not have happened.”

“I would not have killed my brother.” Duro said firmly. “He grieves as if it was not his own hand that killed Varro.”

Harry sighed. “Duro, little goat, I love you, but shut up.”

Several of his brothers sniggered.

“You have been a slave for all of a handful of weeks, you don’t understand yet what it truly means to be a slave, to have no choice. I learned, as will you. Spartacus had absolutely no choice in the matter. Varro was dead as soon as that little shit turned down his thumb, whether by Spartacus’ hand, or by those of the guards, he still would have died and if Spartacus had not done as ordered, he would have died too.”

“I would rather die than kill my own brother!” Duro insisted hotly.

“Duro. Varro asked Spartacus to look after his wife and child, he begged Spartacus not to throw away his life with his. What would you do if you were in the same positon? If Agron had a wife and child, as unlikely as that actually is, given his tastes, but what if he begged for you to kill him, to keep on living, to provide for his wife and son in his place so that they wouldn’t suffer as well? Would you refuse? Would you die alongside him and condemn his wife and child to death or slavery also?”

“Varro grabbed blade and pulled it into himself.” Barca said. “He left Spartacus no option but to give him a mercy killing. To not follow through after that would have been cruel and would have left Varro to suffer in agony and die a slow death.”

Duro blinked, as if finally understanding and Harry sighed and curled into Pietros.

“How do you fare?” His lover asked him, one hand coming to touch his forehead.

“I am tired.” He said. “But the herbs are moving out of my body now, so after today I should not feel as such, and I will not need any more of them.”

“You are not in pain?”

“No.” Harry shook his head. “The swelling is going down too.” He said, waving his fingers at Pietros.

“I’m so happy that you’re okay.” Pietros said, turning and kissing his cheek gently.

Harry smiled happily. “I love you too, but I really am alright. I’m not feeling too tired now either, I’m more awake.”

“Don’t scream tonight.” Crixus bitched at him.

It took Harry a moment, and several snorts and sniggers of laughter from those around him, to understand what Crixus had been referencing. He rolled his eyes.

“If my lovers pull a scream or two from me, it’s no concern of yours. Just know that I am enjoying myself fully and couldn’t give a shit about it disturbing your needed beauty sleep.”

There was more laughter and he smiled. He truly was feeling better today, though things would have been much better if they weren’t overshadowed by the senseless death of Varro. Harry didn’t want to go back to the medicus’ rooms while his body was lain on a table like a piece of meat, with such little care or dignity. It made Harry feel sick.

He was exempt from training, Spartacus wasn’t training either. Varro’s wife, Aurelia, was coming to collect her husband’s body today and preparations were being made for that.

Harry had to sit in the eating area and not move overly much. Pietros kept coming to check on him between his duties. It was rather boring, but it was needed while his body was flushed of the herbs he’d been taking. He was feeling slow and lethargic still, but that was normal while he was still drugged up a little.

“How do you fare?” Barca asked, coming to sit by him for a moment.

“Still a little sleepy, but I should be back to normal by tomorrow now. I’ll be fine for the games against Pompeii.”

Barca nodded and accepted a cup of water from Pietros, who had brought one over for Harry too. He sat with them for a moment and Harry absorbed their presence and sent each of them a loving caress of magic. They both looked at him with a smile.

It was midmorning when Aurelia arrived for her husband’s body and Harry stood silently, watching respectfully as several of his brothers, including Spartacus and Hamilcar, loaded his wrapped body on a cart.

Harry breathed out raggedly and he reached out to touch Barca. It was a terrible blow to their brotherhood, to lose a brother in such a senseless death outside of the arena, for an exhibition match held for a shit of a Roman boy. There had been no reason for Varro to die, that was what struck them all the hardest. He hadn’t had a glorious death in the arena, he’d died for sport, in a closed room, with just half a hundred people present to watch.

They were called back to training as soon as Varro’s body cleared the gates and Harry tried his hand at doing some simple moves with the palus, just so he wouldn’t have to sit and think. Spartacus was out of things too and he threw down both of his swords and walked off. Harry sighed, this could destroy Spartacus if he allowed it to, if he couldn’t get past what he’d been ordered to do. Harry would go and see him again later, and he would have another little chat with him and give him some more loving exchanges with his magic. It wouldn’t make him feel much better, but it could help a little…he hoped.

He had forgotten one thing though…Gnaeus. Gnaeus who was now going to be whipped and punished and then crucified for almost killing him, a higher ranking, thus higher earning, gladiator.

Doctore was the one who was going to administer the lashes, while Harry stood in a half circle with his brothers. Dominus and Domina were watching from the balcony, with their important guest Ilithyia. Unlike Segovax, who had been emasculated and tortured for information on who had ordered him to attack and kill Spartacus, Gnaeus was being whipped for disobeying their Dominus’ orders in full view and hearing of everyone else, such disrespect and disobedience could only be paid for with blood, as their Dominus told them from the balcony as Gnaeus was prepared between two posts.

Harry stood between Barca and Crixus once again. Duro and Agron were close by for support, as was Spartacus. Pietros was stood at Barca’s other side, unlike with Segovax, he looked grim and determined, his face set and hard. He barely looked like soft, sweet, kind Pietros.

The first lash of Doctore’s whip was a hard crack against bared flesh and Harry flinched more than Gnaeus did. The second lash followed and it opened a bloody split in Gnaeus’ back…the man screamed with that one, but Harry had been ready for it. He didn’t flinch this time, he stood firm and straight, watching as Gnaeus was whipped over and over, every lash coming fast and hard, opening up more rents in his back and sides, blood pouring to the sand below. Harry counted twenty-three lashes before Dominus called an end to the whipping and Gnaeus’ back was a bloody ruin by the end. Harry could hear him sobbing from the pain of it and he took savage pleasure in it. He reminded himself firmly that this was the man who had plotted to rape him and his beloved Pietros. This was the man who had tried to kill him by dropping him over the cliff, it was nothing less than he deserved.

He tried to force himself to watch as his brothers happily took up the hammers to knock the nails into Gnaeus’ wrists, but the first blow, and the first unending scream of utter agony and he had to turn away.

“This is for your own justice.” Crixus berated him. “He is being crucified for you.”

“No, he’s being crucified because he disobeyed Dominus’ orders and tried to drop me off the cliff against orders.” Harry said. “I can’t watch it.”

He flinched with the screams, but Barca encouraged him to turn around and take a peek. He did and he was breathing quickly, but he managed to peel his eyes open and watched a few more hammer blows before he hid his face back into Barca.

His brothers were very slow in their actions. They waited a good long while between each strike of the hammer into the nails in Gnaeus’ wrists, letting him feel the agony for longer, letting him wait and suffer. They weren’t hitting the nails hard enough either, just little taps that moved the nail at a snail’s pace, prolonging the suffering and the pain. 

Harry took another couple of peeks, much to Crixus’ growing pride, as Barca encouraged him to watch justice being done. When Gnaeus was finally nailed to the block of wood, which took twice as long as it had for Segovax, Harry hardened himself and he stepped forward, away from Barca and Crixus, and he straightened himself and he watched as Gnaeus was hoisted up to die on the wall. He could almost feel the proud gazes from behind him as he forced his eyes open to watch the disturbing proceedings.

A hand laid on his shoulder and Harry reached up to touch Barca with a small smile. He was glad that his lover was willing to recognise his efforts and was willing to support him through it. It helped him to watch for a little longer as a bloody froth escaped Gnaeus’ mouth as he screamed on the wall…it had taken Segovax three days to die, he had started begging for some water, for some shade, for them to end his life on the first afternoon, just before they’d gone for their noon meal. His brothers were taking bets about how long Gnaeus held out, when he would start begging for water while nailed to the sun baked wall with no shade. Harry hoped that it was quick, not because he didn’t want Gnaeus to suffer for what he did, but because he didn’t want to watch or hear it. To him it was just…it was too violent, too much, and it was nothing that he’d ever had to witness before and his brothers kept telling him to get used to it, but it wasn’t something that you could get used to…or at least he couldn’t get used to it. Truthfully he didn’t _want_ to get used to it. It was just too awful to think about, he never wanted to look at himself and see that he had become comfortable with this vile display of violence and capital punishment. With the terrible waste of human life.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ X

It took Gnaeus just two days to die on the wall, and Harry was sure that it was because his German goat brothers hadn’t stopped taunting him. They poked and prodded whenever they had a free moment and Duro had, cruelly in Harry’s opinion, taken to drinking cups of water in front of the dehydrated Gnaeus. Not that Harry had told him to stop, he hadn’t, but he did turn around whenever he saw Duro doing it, turning a blind eye to the cruel treatment.

With the games against Pompeii approaching their Doctore had stepped up their training and all of them were going to bed in their cells at night, exhausted and sore. None of them had any time to make trouble, though Crixus still insisted on riling up Spartacus, who never responded. Harry had sat with him a lot over the last few days, talking to him so that he wasn’t alone, caressing him with magic so that he knew he was still loved. It wasn’t fair that he had had his wife returned to him, only for her to have been attacked on the road and killed, having just enough life left to die in his arms. Now Varro, his best friend in the ludus, had been killed by his own hand, on the orders of a shit of a cruel boy who clearly had no respect for living people if he could choose to discard their lives so carelessly, so cavalier about them as living people that Spartacus killing Varro was, to him and the shits around him, no more than felling a tree. It disgusted him.

“Tiny! Get over here.” Hamilcar called out to him. “Do not make me come to you and knock sense into your head once again!”

Harry turned to him and smiled. “No, once in my life was enough of that.”

He made his way over to Hamilcar and hefted his shield up against his shoulder and re-gripped his sword in his hand. He wiggled his hips and crouched slightly, setting himself, then Hamilcar launched at him and Harry lost himself in the familiar duck and dive of training, striking out when he had a target, using his shield more now that he was used to the weight and awkwardness of having it on his arm. The training was actually rather enjoyable now that he was used to it. He winced in remembered sympathy as he recalled how sore and pained he’d been back when he was a recruit, back when he couldn’t use a shield because the weighted training equipment was too heavy and cumbersome and he’d needed Doctore to hold his hands to the sword to get him to swing properly at the palus…it was hard to imagine that that had been almost a year ago now. He was nearly fifteen.

Harry ducked and weaved around Hamilcar, laughing and jesting with his brother, but Hamilcar was one of those he would never fully trust. He had forgiven him for all the transgressions done to him in his time here, particularly the crack to the head when he’d still been a recruit, because he sort of understood that he hadn’t been one of _them_ until he’d gotten his brand, but that didn’t mean that Harry trusted any of them. Those he trusted, truly trusted, were far in between and few in number. Truly it was only Barca, Pietros, Spartacus, Crixus, and Donar these days. He could sort of trust Pollux and Fulco, but they wouldn’t be his first port of call if he needed anything, and he was coming to trust his little goats, Agron and Duro, those two were certainly growing on him and they had him laughing every day with some of the things they came out with, but what drew him to them the most was the deep love they held for one another, Agron the big, overprotective brother and Duro, the silly, joker of a younger brother, but underneath that, you could see the brotherly love between them, how Duro looked up to Agron and admired him, how Agron would look for Duro during every little moment he had after he’d downed an opponent. Harry loved watching them interacting with one another. 

He stepped back to indicate to Hamilcar that he wanted to take a small break and he looked around as he took a breather. He looked at Duro, who was practising with Litaviccus, and then over to Agron, who was sparring with Spartacus. He looked to Barca, who was training with Crixus and he smiled. He moved his gaze to find Pietros, and green eyes met brown and they both smiled at one another. Harry mouthed ‘I love you’ at him and Pietros grinned happily, but Hamilcar took Harry’s attention before he saw if Pietros had a reply for him.

He went back to sparring, testing out new combinations of attacks and defences, making mistakes and learning from them, which was perfect here on the training sands, as he could figure out what would work, but more importantly, what wouldn’t, without the fear of death hanging over his head. 

It happened suddenly. He heard Agron call to Spartacus, alarm in his voice and just as Harry turned, Spartacus hit the sand.

“What happened?” He asked of Agron, darting to check on Spartacus, pushing his magic into him to diagnose a problem.

“His wound!” Agron insisted. “It oozes.”

“What wound?” Harry demanded, looking Spartacus over visually, but it was his magic that found the wound first…the badly infected wound.

He shifted to look at it and he saw the stream of pus oozing from the slice in his side and he swallowed hard. He immediately pushed his magic into Spartacus’ body to stop the immediate spread of the infection, so that it wouldn’t kill his friend.

“How did he get this?” He asked, looking around at everyone watching him.

“In the exhibition match against Varro.” Barca told him.

“But, that was days ago, it hasn’t healed at all, I don’t understand why it doesn’t show any sign of hea…” Harry sighed heavily as he realised what had happened. “He was picking at it, keeping it open, that’s how it got infected. I didn’t even notice.”

“He didn’t tell you because he knew that you would help him, that you would heal the wound and he wanted to keep it.” Barca told him firmly, refusing to allow Harry to blame himself.

“Can we move him now?” Doctore asked him.

Harry nodded. “The medicus should be able to heal this, he is fevered, as long as that is kept in check, and is brought down, then he will recover in a few days. He _will_ miss the games against Pompeii.”

“I will inform Dominus.” Doctore said tightly. “See him to the medicus. Harian, stay with him until I return.”

Harry nodded his understanding. He had been planning on staying with Spartacus anyway, but he understood why Doctore had asked him to do so…Dominus might ask him to be Spartacus’ medicus, as he’d done for Crixus. Spartacus was too valuable to lose and it had appeared to everyone around him that he had performed a miracle in healing Crixus when even the medicus could do no more for him.

“What has happened?” The medicus asked.

“He took a wound and never had it seen to, he’s been picking at it and it’s now infected.” Harry said as Crixus and Barca got Spartacus up onto the bed. “He’s passed out and it is oozing, right here.”

“He is fevered.” The medicus said, getting to work immediately, directing Crixus and Barca to fetching him things and Harry took it upon himself to tend the wound, cleaning it with water and a clean rag. It allowed him to push more magic into Spartacus, to stave off the spread of the infection and work to heal it.

Harry watched the medicus mash up herbs and water to make a drink to feed to Spartacus, before putting it aside and starting on grinding up more herbs, this time to place over the wound to help draw out the poison.

Harry handled the topical paste of herbs while the medicus forced the drink down Spartacus’ throat.

“Barca, there is a bandage and a pad of linen by there, can you hand them to me, please?” Harry asked distractedly, using gentle fingers to smear on the paste, pushing more magic into the wound.

The items were handed over and Harry took the linen pad first and he carefully placed it over the wound, making sure none of the herbs slipped off of where they needed to be. Harry held the pad in place and he got Crixus to lift Spartacus as he wrapped the bandage around.

“Will he live?” Crixus asked him.

Harry nodded. “He will recover. Just not in time for the games against Pompeii. His fever needs time to break and this infection needs time to be drawn out.”

Harry secured the bandage before he reached out to get a bowl of clean, cool water and a cloth. He dipped it and he started wiping off Spartacus’ forehead, neck and the back of the head, trying to cool him down enough for his fever to break.

Spartacus shivered and writhed before laying still and Harry touched him gently and fed in a soothing wash of magic to comfort him with warmth and love.

“How is he?”

Harry almost jumped out of his skin when Dominus came striding in, demanding an update before he was barely through the door.

“He is caught in fever.” The medicus answered.

“Harian, can you heal him in time for the games?”

“No, Dominus.” He said carefully. “His fever has to run its course, as did Crixus’. He will not be well in time for the games.”

“Fuck.” The Dominus cursed, his arms raising to scrape through his thinning hair. “See to him, make sure he doesn’t die. I’ll send down Mira to assist. Harian, is there anything you can do that the medicus cannot?”

Harry shook his head. “No, Dominus. It is only making sure that his fever does not rise too high and controlling the infection. I am not needed.”

“To training then. You three fight in the games against Pompeii. If Spartacus is not to fight, I need you three to be at your very best.”

The three of them nodded and murmured ‘Dominus’ together. They left the medicus’ rooms and went back onto the training sands.

“How is he?” Agron asked worriedly, Duro at his shoulder.

“He’s fevered, but he will live.” Harry said with a tired smile. “Thank the gods that you noticed his wound, Agron. If it had been left in such a state for much longer he might not have survived it. I didn’t even know he had a wound, what sort of friend am I?”

“He hid it from you on purpose.” Barca insisted firmly. “He knew you would heal it and he did not want it healed. This is his own fault.”

Harry worried his lip and then he sighed. He nodded. He knew Barca’s words to be true. Spartacus had hidden the wound from him on purpose. Thinking back on it Spartacus had always kept his right side away from him, they hadn’t sparred together since Varro’s death, and when they had some free time Spartacus either hurried off to his cell, or he sat on Harry’s right…keeping his injured right side away from his sight.

He should have realised that something was wrong, but he had left Spartacus to his grief.

“Why did none of you tell me that he had a wound?”

“Truthfully, I expected him to tell you himself, tiny.” Donar shrugged.

“It did not seem so bad when he first received it.” Barca told him. “The tip of Varro’s sword just caught his skin. A shallow wound that would have healed without need for interference. I did not see him causing more damage to the wound.”

“I had thought he’d already done so.” Crixus admitted. “I saw it as a small scratch, I did not know he was picking at it like a mad fuck.”

“Grief does terrible things to the mind.” Harry sighed. “He likely saw it as a punishment to himself and to keep it to himself, he must have been digging at it in his cell, away from everyone else.”

“He will recover though, won’t he?” Duro asked.

Harry nodded. “Now that it’s been found, it can be treated and it will heal. The danger now lies in Spartacus’ fever. It needs to be brought down quickly, and it needs to break soon.”

“The medicus will bring his fever down. You’ve done what you can.” Barca insisted sternly.

Of course his brothers, and his lovers, knew by now his penchant for blaming himself when things went wrong. Harry nodded his understanding. He would still give a bit of magic over to Spartacus to help him, but the medicus, as filthy as he was, would be able to deal with it without him.

Mira, one of the slave girls of the villa above, hurried past them, not making eye contact, as she went quickly to the medicus’ rooms. She had been sent down to assist the medicus, to aid Spartacus’ recovery, as Naevia had been sent down to tend to Crixus. No one bothered her.

“Back to training.” Oenomaus told them. “Spartacus is well in hand and is being tended to. The games against Pompeii approach quickly and you need to be prepared. Barca with Harian. Crixus with Agron.”

Harry sighed and went to pick up one of the many dropped swords that littered the sand in light of Spartacus collapsing. Barca was also with a sword today, so Harry was a little happier…but their Doctore soon called for Pietros to bring out a spear and Harry sighed heavily and kicked at the sand sullenly.

“You need to learn more skill against the spear.” Barca chastised him, when he saw what Harry was doing.

“I know.” Harry said, understanding. “I just…you keep saying it yourself, I have a soft heart, and too much is happening too quickly. I can’t keep up.”

Barca gave him a touch and bent to kiss him. “Spartacus will heal. His fever will break and he will be back in training soon. We will look after our brother once he is released from the medicus’ clutches. Now stand and pose. I would teach you all that I could to bring down Hoplomachi.”

Harry smiled and drew in a large breath, he stepped a few paces back from Barca and swung the sword through his fingers before gripping it tight. He’d noticed that in recent weeks it fit his hand a little better than it had before. He was getting older, and he was growing. A marvel in this ludus where all he ate was barley and bean porridge, and hard bread, what he wouldn’t give for an apple…or a slice of treacle tart.

He and Barca came together hard, despite being lovers there was no inch given on the training sands, and they did attack one another to win. Barca was instructing him how to combat the spear, and Harry was trying to put those instructions into practice. He was improving, and he was getting much better.

A long, outward swing by Barca and Harry stole his chance, dropping to his knees in an instant and letting the spear sail over his head, before surging to his feet, his sword already poised, and as Barca’s swing carried through, Harry struck himself, swinging his sword into Barca’s exposed side and cracking his lover in the ribs.

“Good work, Harian.” Their Doctore praised, walking passed them, his whip coiled in his hand, ready to be used the moment it was needed.

Harry nodded to his Doctore, but went to soothe Barca’s ribs with gentle hands and soft lips, pushing a bit of magic into the sore area to make sure he hadn’t cracked anything.

“You have come a long way from being unable to handle long, hard things.” Barca teased. “You can still dodge like no other I have ever seen.”

“A lucky skill that has kept me alive.” Harry nodded. “I am glad of it.”

“You have survived four on one matches now, you can use your _special_ ability to take down numerous opponents. I will be seeing you again one day, delicate heart, and it will not be in the afterlife.”

“You have never been so… _optimistic_ before, lover.” Harry said pointedly.

“I had yet to see you take down four opponents by yourself. I have witnessed such a thing with my own eyes now. You can survive this. I will be waiting for you, with Pietros, on our farm.”

“They won’t stop, Barca. They’ll keep adding opponents until they find my limit.” Harry said sadly. “I barely managed to get through these games.” He said, placing a hand over the healing wound in his side.

Barca took both of his hands and squeezed, tucking his spear into the bend of his elbow.

“You were injured the night before the games. You were injured, half drugged, and you still survived, Harian. The more opponents they throw at you, you will use more of your ability to survive.”

“The more I use the more I risk getting caught.” Harry stressed.

Barca shrugged. “The people see blood, they would not see idiots slipping on sand or being held back.”

“I made the murmillo’s shield too heavy for him to lift.” Harry confided. “Was it obvious?”

“We suspected that you had done as such, no gladiator is so foolish as to not lift his shield, but to the crowd, and to those who do not know of your special ability? He came across as foolish, arrogant man who died because he did not lift his shield.”

Harry blew out a breath. “I will try to use such a trick again.” He said softly. “Perhaps not at the start of a match, to avoid suspicion, but I will do all I can to stay alive. So pose, lover, and let us test me against the spear again.”

Harry kissed Barca and recovered his sword while Barca straightened his arm and caught the spear without even looking at it. He would have made an excellent Seeker, if only he’d been a little shorter and more compact.

The training continued, and Harry stayed with Barca. They were more tit for tat these days, Harry won a bout, Barca won a bout, but as Harry had learnt and grown, he could keep pace with his brothers and he won as many training fights as he lost. He just hoped that four opponents was as many as he ever got, because even though he’d survived that match, he almost hadn’t. His hand found the slice in his side and pressed over it. He could still feel the spear blade rip through his skin and a cold wave swept over him, making him feel clammy and panicked. Four opponents was enough, he just hoped that the Romans believed that too, even though, deep down, he knew that their curiosity would see him going against impossible seeming numbers. He hoped that, with his magic behind him, that he could survive those encounters as well as he had his previous ones.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ X

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Oh, poor Varro, I feel bad keeping that the same as the show, but it was needed. Spartacus would never have entertained thoughts of freedom, or breaking free of the ludus, if Varro had still lived, because with just a year left to pay off his debts, Varro wouldn’t have needed to fight for freedom like the rest of his brothers, and he wouldn’t have joined in the massacre. So Varro still needed to die, in order to isolate Spartacus and turn his mind to freedom, which is coming ever closer now with the penultimate chapter approaching, but first, first the games against Pompeii, and with Spartacus incapacitated, the primus is wide open…who will face Pericles, the Titan of Pompeii? Crixus, like in the show, or will it be Harian? I think you can all guess who it’ll be.
> 
> StarLight Massacre. X


	12. Sine Missione

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last Time
> 
> The training continued, and Harry stayed with Barca. They were more tit for tat these days, Harry won a bout, Barca won a bout, but as Harry had learnt and grown, he could keep pace with his brothers and he won as many training fights as he lost. He just hoped that four opponents was as many as he ever got, because even though he’d survived that match, he almost hadn’t. His hand found the slice in his side and pressed over it. He could still feel the spear blade rip through his skin and a cold wave swept over him, making him feel clammy and panicked. Four opponents was enough, he just hoped that the Romans believed that too, even though, deep down, he knew that their curiosity would see him going against impossible seeming numbers. He hoped that, with his magic behind him, that he could survive those encounters as well as he had his previous ones.

Chapter Twelve – Sine Missione

The games against Pompeii were the following day, and they should have all been resting, but Harry was battling with the dual feelings of panic and devastating loss. As soon as these games were over Barca and Pietros would be granted freedom and they would be leaving the ludus to set off to Carthage. Harry had been helping them to prepare for the journey, and their new life as farmers, while also taking the time to kiss and snuggle with them as often as he could because he knew that very soon that they would be gone.

“Stop squirming and sleep.” Barca grunted in his ear.

Harry was lying between Barca and Pietros, he had been since the date had been set for their release from servitude. It was their own way of getting in some more time with him, sandwiched between them, being held and loved.

“I’m riled up.” Harry whispered, trying not to wake up Pietros, but a kiss to the back of his neck proved that Pietros was awake too.

Harry turned to him and in the pitch darkness of the cell, he tried to figure out where his lover’s mouth was to kiss him. He caught a chin, then made his way up to Pietros’ mouth from there.

“We have already made love. You need to rest and sleep, you fight on the morrow.” Pietros fretted, breaking away from their passionate kiss.

“I cannot sleep regardless, why not make love once more?” Harry asked softly, reaching out to stroke over Pietros’ hair.

Barca sighed and shifted, sitting up. “I can rise to occasion once more.”

Harry giggled. “Of course you can. You’re always ready to rise, especially in the mornings, Barca.”

They heard Barca snorting from further in the cell, and a moment later heard the door open. Barca came back with a taper, carrying a small flame from the lamp outside. He lit the candles in their room, allowing them to see a little better.

“Errant boys will be the death of me.” Barca grumbled, but there was a smirk on his mouth as he looked at them both, naked and entwined in his bed.

“But we’re young, Barca, and very, very rampant.” Harry pointed out with a grin.

Barca was surprised into giving a real laugh and Harry loved hearing it.

“Very rampant.” Pietros agreed, placing a hand on Harry’s belly before slowly moving it down so that he could stroke over Harry’s cock.

Harry moaned happily at the touch, and rolled his hips up to get more of Pietros’ touch.

“You are still not slow enough!” Barca chastised, grabbing at Pietros’ hand and pulling it away from Harry. Harry groaned in disappointment and frustration.

“I have already savoured him.” Pietros insisted. “Now I wish to ravish him.”

“I want that.” Harry said, looking beseechingly at Barca.

Barca sighed, but he let Pietros go, and sat back at the end of the bed.

The two of them came back together, all grasping limbs and quick, wet kisses. Barca shook his head, but he smiled too, just watching them from where he had chosen to sit.

Pietros was fervent in his touches, and kisses, and he laid his lips and hands anywhere that he could reach. Harry moaned as his lover kissed a nipple, before licking it. A hand stroked over his stomach, sending goosebumps up both arms, and Harry moaned softly at the pleasurable touches, his own hands reaching out to touch skin and hair.

“Barca, I want you too.” Harry said, rather breathless from sensation.

“Pietros’ passion leaves me no room. Let him enjoy you, and then I will take care of you once he is done.”

Harry groaned, and turned to Pietros, as he realised what Barca was planning. They were going to wear him out, so that he fell into a deep sleep.

Pietros was a bundle of energy, and Harry’s fervour grew under his attentions, and they really were too fast still, as Pietros slipped into his body in one long, smooth glide, but Harry didn’t care. He met every one of Pietros’ thrusts with one of his own. Their lips barely parted long enough to catch a breath, their hands clenching and holding tightly as if the other would somehow slip from their grasp.

It was over too soon, and Harry keened acutely with the sudden lack of stimulation as Pietros reached his orgasm, and went still above him.

“I warned you that you were going too fast.” Barca insisted.

Harry panted, wriggled restlessly, and tried to thrust himself onto Pietros, but Pietros wasn’t cooperative, and was no longer capable of reciprocating.

Barca picked up Pietros and moved him, laying a kiss to his head before turning to Harry with a smirk. Harry’s breath caught in his throat, and he moaned lowly, his legs kicking in anticipation.

“I love you, you know.” He insisted.

Barca smiled at him, and cupped his cheek. “I know. Know also that I love you.”

Harry felt a surge of emotion, and he shoved it aside, he wanted sex first, then he could fall apart and be comforted.

“Let me show you what being on top means?” He asked, remembering that long ago day, when he had teased Barca into chasing him.

“If that is what you want.”

Harry nodded. “Lay on your back for me.”

Barca did as Harry had asked, and reclined on the bed, watching him with an easy smile that only came out when they were safely in the privacy of their shared cell.

Harry slipped himself onto Barca’s stomach, straddling him, and he bent forward for a kiss, his hands roaming over perfect skin. Pietros was lying beside Barca, watching him, sated, but curious.

“Is this what you wanted?” Barca asked him, watching as Harry ran his hands all over the muscled chest and stomach that he loved so much.

“Yes.” Harry murmured, distractedly, his hands still stroking and mapping out Barca.

Harry moved, teasing Barca, rubbing against him, using short thrusts to rub himself against those muscles.

“Enough, Harian.” Barca growled. “Show me what you wanted to, or I will take back control and show my love to you in more familiar ways.”

Harry chuckled, but he reached behind him and gripped Barca tightly, and positioned himself carefully. He slid down Barca’s cock slowly, easing himself down, but still his lover made him catch his breath in his throat. He shivered in delight. He loved this feeling, and this might be the very last chance he had to feel it, to make love with those he had given his heart. It wasn’t any wonder that he hadn’t been able to sleep.

Barca helped him by holding onto his hips with his big hands, steadying him, supporting him, while Harry adjusted to his length.

Once he’d caught his breath back, and was sitting comfortably, that was when Harry moved, showing Barca, and an avidly watching Pietros, how to ride dick.

He started out slowly, lifting himself up, and then easing back down again. Once he was settled in his rhythm he started moving faster, and Barca caught on to what he was doing, and those hands on his hips helped Harry move. Barca had enough strength in his arms to lift Harry and support him in the air, and Harry gave in to that strength, he surrendered completely to Barca and let him do as he wanted.

Barca ended up taking back control once Harry was so lost in his pleasure that he couldn’t do anything other than moan and cry out. Harry was rolled onto his back and Barca held him tightly as he thrust into him, fast and hard.

Pietros used a hand to guide Harry’s face to his own, pulling it to the side so that he could kiss him. Harry moaned into Pietros’ mouth, into their kiss, as Barca pinned his hips and slowed down his movements a little, to a smooth glide that made Harry writhe and moan.

“We love you, Harry.” Pietros told him, stroking his face and up into his hair. “We will never forget you. We’ll be on our farm, waiting for you to join us.”

Harry turned and kissed Pietros hard, mostly to shut him up. He loved him, but he didn’t want to hear anything about his lovers leaving tomorrow. He wanted to just enjoy them while he had them.

A hand on his cock, moving in sure strokes, and Harry easily forgot what Pietros had said. He was brought to a toe-curling orgasm, his back arched, his hips trying to thrust, while he used his arm to stifle the scream of pleasure that wanted to break free.

Barca fell on him, and Harry panted into his shoulder, wrapping his arms around his lover, touching sweat soaked skin.

“Now we really need to rest.” Barca told him, moving to the side and kissing Harry, pushing wild, black hair back from Harry’s face.

Harry hummed, feeling the boneless sensation of a good orgasm setting in. He was moved back to the middle of the bed, back between Pietros and Barca, and he sighed happily. He didn’t want to give this up, but after tonight, he’d have no choice. He moved closer to Pietros, and held Barca’s arms tighter around his middle.

Tomorrow afternoon he was going to be fighting against four opponents in the arena, in the games against Pompeii, for his very survival. He was going to use all of his tricks, every drop of magic that he could wring out of himself, and he needed to be well rested for it.

The sex had done the trick though, as he was now relaxed and sleepy, and trying not to think on what would happen tomorrow, both the arena fights and his lovers leaving him, Harry fell asleep cradled between them for perhaps the very last time.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- X

Harry had been horrified to hear on the morning of the games that Batiatus had put him in the primus fight against Pericles, the Titan of Pompeii, in place of Spartacus, who was too ill to fight. Harry had expected Crixus to fight the primus, everyone had expected Crixus to be named as Pericles’ opponent as he was the former champion of Capua, but he was still recovering from the injuries that his fight against Theokoles had caused. Even months after the injuries had been healed it was still too soon to put Crixus into a primus fight, regardless that the man deemed himself more than ready to go back out onto the sands, as these games would be his first games since Theokoles. He had been absent the arena too long, absent from the view of the crowds for too long, for the honour of a primus match.

Their Doctore had broken the news to them, thankfully after they had eaten, that Harry was to have the primus match against Pericles…along with his four original opponents. Harry had almost vomited from the stress and the fear of what he was expected to do then and there on the spot.

His brothers had given him slaps to the back, and words of encouragement, as they heard of his vastly handicapped match, but Harry knew that inside they were full of pity, and none of them expected to see him again. Only Donar had seemed to hold any real faith that he would truly survive and return to the ludus. Harry really liked Donar.

Harry paced the cell he was sharing with his brothers like a nervous animal. After being told that his original four opponents would be moved up to the primus fight also, alongside Pericles, he was nervous, and frightened. He now faced five men on his own, one of them the Titan of Pompeii, who Spartacus had been set to fight alone. What hope did he have with four other opponents in the arena with him, all of them against him?

He sucked in a breath and prepared his magic, trying to feed it into his skin to make it almost a barrier, like a full body shield, hoping that it would help if any sword came to kill him, giving him a glancing cut rather than anything that would open him up, or cause him to lose a limb.

Barca was watching him sadly, having won his last ever fight, and he’d received the rudis, to huge acclaim from the crowd who screamed themselves hoarse to witness such a thing.

Crixus was fighting currently, the primus was next, but from the commentary of their brothers, and beyond them the crowd, Crixus was making a mess of his fight…Harry was thankful that Crixus hadn’t been given the primus because he would have likely died. He was not ready to jump into these big fights yet, not so soon after his injuries. He might not even survive this fight, but Harry hoped desperately that he would.

Crixus’ fight took so long that Harry was worried that his friend might drop down dead from exhaustion. He was not at full health, he had barely recovered and gotten back into full training. In the end though, Crixus won, violently killing his opponent to the roars of the crowd and the renewed shouts of his name, which he hadn’t heard in months. Harry was glad that Crixus’ fight was over, that he had won…yet also dreading what came next. The primus.

Crixus was walking stiffly, a pained expression cluing them all in to how hard fought that battle actually was. He was bleeding too. Harry went to him, and gave a small taste of magic, just to check how deep the wounds were, or if Crixus was in any danger of falling down dead.

“Save ability for yourself!” Crixus growled at him.

“I’m just checking that you aren’t going to keel over.” Harry told him.

“They are but scratches.” Crixus insisted, shoving Harry roughly back at Barca.

Harry cuddled with Barca as Crixus’ vanquished opponent was dragged from the arena, and fresh sand was laid out to cover the bloodstains. He could feel his heart thundering in his chest, no doubt Barca could feel it too with how tightly they were pressed together.

“Harian.” Oenomaus called out to him.

Barca squeezed him close and tighter for a moment, pressing a kiss to Harry’s forehead. Harry licked his dry lips, trying to swallow with a bone dry throat, but he went up onto his toes to kiss Barca properly, and then he walked to the gate, and out into the corridor beyond. There were more Lorarii waiting for him, their whips ready in their hands if he showed any signs of trying to run, or any reluctance to actually enter the arena sands, but it wasn’t needed. All the warning Harry had needed had come from Batiatus, as Harry had been separated from his brothers to visit the bet maker, to place a single coin on himself, as had become ritual for him.

‘ _If you don’t fight, Pietros stays in the ludus when Barca goes._ ’

Those words echoed around his head like the threat they had been meant as, and though his legs were like jelly, he was used to this feeling by now. He wanted to flee, to run away from the stress of what he was expected to do, he shouldn’t be here, no one should be here. He was still only fourteen, he shouldn’t be exposed to this sort of situation. But he calmed himself, used his magic to give him confidence and a small sense of comfort and security. He knew what was to come next, he had been through it all before, and as usual, as the one expected to lose even after all he had survived through, he was to be the first out onto the sands. Only the call never came. Harry was left pacing, wearing himself out with worry and fear, as he was forced to wait, and wait, and wait.

The Lorarii were tense, standing on guard, their eyes never leaving him, their hands gripping their whips a little tighter every time Harry paced closer to the exit they were standing guard over…the only way to leave the antechamber he was standing in that didn’t lead onto the arena sands.

“Why do they make a mockery of me?” Harry demanded, stopping his pacing to stare out through the gate and onto the sands. The crowd was restless, and turning violent.

“Patience, Harian. Calm your heart.” His Doctore tried.

Harry laughed mockingly. “As if I could, Doctore.” He answered bitterly.

“Sit a moment.” He was encouraged.

Harry did so, but his knee was bouncing so ferociously that it shook his whole body. His breathing was too fast, the terror was setting in, and it was getting increasingly more difficult to keep his mind clear.

“Look at me!” His Doctore commanded, cupping his cheeks and forcing Harry’s eyes to his own. “Calm yourself, Harian. You will ruin all chance you have on the sands if you do not calm your heart.”

“I cannot stand this waiting.” Harry said, his voice trembling along with his body. “What is the delay? Why do they not announce the primus?!”

“I do not know, but I would see you keep a clear head for the coming fight.”

Harry swallowed, and nodded, despite not feeling as confident.

“I’ve been waiting an eternity.” He complained, getting back to his feet and pacing. He could only imagine the tension his brothers were feeling. How worried Barca would be.

At long last the primus was announced, and the sound of the cornua heralded the last fight of the night…and it truly was getting on for night now, as the sun had started to set. That wouldn’t help any of them fighting tonight…though it would impair the visibility of the crowd also, which would help hide his magic use at least.

Oenomaus helped Harry to dress, checking on every one of his buckles, helping him into his helmet as Harry gripped the leather strap of his shield in a tight, bloodless fist.

“Keep your heart.” His Doctore told him. “And see head cleared and on the coming match.”

Harry nodded, taking a few breaths as he was finally introduced. He walked out to raucous calling and screaming. He still held the marvel of the crowd, despite that he was out first and expected to die. They had seen this routine before, him coming out first, being expected to die, yet he hadn’t. Therein laid his problem really, as with every match, with every instance that he survived, their morbid curiosity only grew.

His head was clear, he was nervous, anxious, frightened, naturally, but he wasn’t going to stand rooted to the spot again. He couldn’t do that to Barca, who finally had his freedom. He wouldn’t give Batiatus, the cunt, any reason to keep Pietros in slavery, at the ludus, while Barca had been granted freedom.

His opponents were introduced one by one, but they came out together, and Harry could immediately see who the Titan of Pompeii was. He actually reminded Harry of Barca in a way, with his dark skin and his long dreadlocks. That was where the similarities ended, however. Barca was infinitely more handsome, with a much better toned body, and more to the point, Harry loved him deeply, so he was bound to be biased.

The Titan of Pompeii, Pericles, was right in the front, in the middle, flanked on either side by two other gladiators apiece. Harry felt stupid…stupid and so very small stood in front of these grown men. He must have looked absolutely ridiculous. He pulled his magic tight around his body, he had grown since his first fights, he was better able to deal with this now. He could handle the pressure, he could handle the arena, he took a deep breath and waited, his entire body feeling like it was only being held up with his magic.

“Begin!” Batiatus roared out, taking the place of the white haired magistrate Calavius, who wasn’t there, though his wife and shitty son were, the one who had sentenced Varro to death needlessly because he was a shit of a Roman who had no care that they were people. The fat, pompous magistrate from Pompeii was grinning down at the sands, eagerly anticipating five of his top gladiators butchering him.

Harry immediately found himself surrounded on all sides, as the four gladiators rushed to box him in, leaving Pericles in front of him. They had been told of his little trick during the last games, where he’d thrown his dagger and sword to kill two men right at the start. This match was going to be horrendously difficult, but Harry had the biggest motive in the world…not putting Pietros in danger of not gaining his freedom, and not letting Barca see yet another lover die before his very eyes, two was more than enough for any man in his lifetime.

Harry chose his target and dived at the one gladiator, a hoplomachus, before any of them could make any sort of move towards him, or cage him in with their weapons, and he rolled through his legs, got to his feet, and immediately turned and moved to the gladiator beside him, stabbing into his kidney and dropping him to the floor amid a roar of excitement from the crowd.

Harry didn’t let himself be grateful though, it didn’t matter how many of these gladiators he cut down, Pericles was the real danger here. He couldn’t leave Pericles until last or he might as well ram his sword through his own belly, but that didn’t mean he could afford to squander any chance opportunities either, he couldn’t, but if Pericles was his last opponent…he would pray for a miracle in that case.

He once again had all of his opponents in front of him. Four of them now, and not five, but he was no longer surrounded or boxed in. He took a moment to breathe, to settle himself, while he anxiously tried to think of a plan of action.

There were two hoplomachi in the arena with him. That would prove to be very difficult. The man he’d killed had been a retiarius...coincidentally his very first retiarius in the arena. That left a heavily armoured murmillo, and then Pericles…a champion thraex. 

He looked quickly, scouting for any signs of injuries, tan marks that might indicate that someone had been wearing bandages recently, but there was nothing, and he swallowed with his bone dry throat. All of them were in peak condition, and not nursing any injuries.

The two hoplomachi tried to catch him on either side, each stabbing out their seven foot spears, as if he were nothing more than a brainless fish who would stand there and let them. He leapt forward, into a roll, and came to his feet while still crouched down so that he could have a moment to scout his surroundings.

Harry surged to his feet and, dodging the murmillo who was infinitely too slow because of his heavy armour, he headed for Pericles. The sica, an eighteen inch curved sword that could be used like a hook, swung out towards him, and Harry’s magic hummed. He felt like he had an eternity to see and dodge the blade, but it must have been a fraction of a second only, as he heard the crowd gasp and hiss in surprise, likely that his head hadn’t been cut off.

Harry tried to capitalise on his split second advantage, and Pericles came away with blood on his hip, which he’d turned not a moment too soon to keep Harry’s gladius from slicing through his guts. Pericles was injured, but still alive because of his survival instinct to put his hip in the way of the blade, and not his unprotected belly. He was a champion gladiator…he had not gotten to where he was by ignoring his own gut instinct.

His chance lost, Harry dropped to the sand and rolled away from Pericles quickly, and instead hurried off into a space that his magic told him was free of enemies. He took a quick moment to catch his breath as he scouted the sands with his eyes and his magic, all four of his opponents once again at his front.

“You will pay for this, little boy.” Pericles snarled at him through pain gritted teeth, indicating his wound.

“You’re not half as good as you think you are.” Harry replied from behind his helmet.

“Your luck has ended.” One of the hoplomachi told Harry, coming to stand beside Pericles. “You will die soon enough.”

As his magic was still strong and red alert, Harry begged to differ, but as this was still a four on one match, he had to be careful. He would not become arrogant or overconfident, he would keep his guard up at all times.

Harry rushed forward, wary of standing still for too long, and definitely not wanting the four men to come to him, he took the initiative and he charged right down the middle, his sword was passed to his shield hand, his free right hand gripped for his pugio, and a little flare of magic had the thrown dagger imbedding itself into the face of one of the hoplomachi…ironically it was the one who had told him that his luck had run out and that he’d be dead soon. Harry used the shield on his arm to roll over the dead man, his free hand swiped the gladius from the dead hoplomachus’ belt, and he hurried off quickly, into another space before anyone would stab him while he was rolling around the floor.

The pilfered sword went into his belt, where his dagger had been, just in case, and his own sword went back into his right hand and he stopped and stood a moment, on the defensive, as he once again scouted his opponents. Three of them now. If he could carry on picking them off one by one, that would be perfect. He couldn’t take them all on together, and if they got it into their heads to attack him as one, instead of one by one, then he was dead.

Pericles was wounded and that was bound to be bothering him more than he was showing outwardly, the murmillo would be tiring under the sun, which despite being low in the sky it was still blisteringly hot, in his heavy armour and fully enclosed helmet…it was the other hoplomachus that was the danger here, but he couldn’t leave a thraex and a murmillo until last. If he could just take out Pericles next…

Harry’s mental monologue was cut short when the murmillo made a mad dash for him, forcing Harry onto the defensive, and into using his shield, which numbed his arm from the shoulder all the way down to his fingers.

Too late Harry realised what the murmillo was doing, what his remaining brothers had told him to do, as Harry’s small hoplomachi shield was hacked to splinters under the barrage of slashes.

Harry tried to rally as he threw away the now useless shield, (which was now nothing more than a leather handle and a few jagged splinters of wood surrounding the iron boss,) and he tried to get back onto the offensive, as he stabbed out and tried to injure the murmillo, but the man was too heavily armoured, the scutum shield was too big and covered him full body. There were no openings for Harry to exploit, nothing for him to use to his advantage.

His magic sang in alarm, and eyes widening, Harry threw himself to the sand. The spear from behind took the murmillo off of his feet, but regretfully for Harry it had hit the man’s shield, and not a body part.

“Duratius, you fucking cunt!” The murmillo roared at the hoplomachus.

“It didn’t spear skin.” The now named Duratius waved off.

“It could have killed me you dumb shit!”

Harry had rolled away, to what he believed was safety, but he blinked as the two men seemed more intent on shouting at one another than coming after him. Though it was nice to see that other ludi had rivalries between gladiators too. Duratius and the murmillo did not like one another at all, in fact they seemed to loathe one another, and as they were so busy shouting at one another they had lost sight of him, too caught up in their rivalry, as the murmillo tried to cumbersomely get to his feet, lumbering in his heavy armour, as Harry crawled carefully back towards the two of them.

“Kill him! Turn around and kill him!” Pericles roared at his brothers, running at them to try and help, but Harry had already sat up and stabbed his gladius into the murmillo’s leg, right at the knee joint.

He collapsed back to the sand, from where he’d been half stood, and Harry took him straight in the head before leaping up to his feet, ripping his sword free, and running away from the hoplomachus, Duratius, who didn’t seem overly concerned about the death of his murmillo brother. If he had stood there, and seen Harry crawling up behind the murmillo, and had just let him stab his brother in the head, then he was the worst gladiator that Harry had ever met. It was now down to two onto one. Harry had killed over half of his opponents without a scratch, and surely the hoplomachus knew they had a better chance of winning with more men against him?

“You let that little shit kill Thresties, didn’t you?” Pericles roared at Duratius. “You underestimate him, even now!”

“He is a skinny, shit of a boy, Pericles.” The hoplomachus sneered. “I can take him myself.”

Pericles looked like he was having a heart attack. Harry supposed it was too much to ask that he actually was having one.

“When our Doctore hears of this, he will strip the skin from your back!” Pericles hissed.

“I will deny it.”

“If either of you live that long.” Harry interrupted. “Over half of your number are now dead. One small boy pitted against five men, and now down to just two.”

“You have killed the piss and shit of the ludus.” Duratius told him. “Do not let that go to your little head, boy.”

“It seems to me like the entire of your ludus is piss and shit.” Harry replied easily, hoping that anger made them both rash and thoughtless, while they all just stood around and took a breather.

“Capua has never won any games against Pompeii.” Pericles snarled at him…he was definitely getting angry.

“Until today.” Harry said, watching the both of them for any flicker of movement. “This is my first time against Pompeii, and the first time that my ludus has been selected for use in the primus against Pompeii. I cannot believe anyone found any difficulty in taking any of you down. You’re worse fighters than a half dead sheep.”

That got them…they both charged at him in anger, yelling and screaming, and the crowd, which had been growing restless and angry with the inaction of the three remaining opponents, screamed with the gladiators.

Harry didn’t move. He had to time his movement just right or he would miss, or be killed. He swallowed hard and steeled his nerve, and when the hoplomachus, Duratius, who was the faster of the two thanks to Pericles’ wound, was close enough, Harry threw himself forward into a handstand, just narrowly avoiding the spear tip that had been heading for him, and Harry wrapped his legs around his opponent’s neck and pulled himself up and over his shoulders in a single, smooth movement, his hand placed over Duratius’ helmet, where his forehead was for balance, so he didn’t go straight over him and to the sand, and also to tip the head back. A nice deep slice over the throat with his gladius and the man went to his knees, hands dropping his spear and shield to scrabble over the wound, as Harry let go of him and landed gently on the sand.

Harry had enough brains to grab Duratius’ dropped shield to replace the one he’d lost earlier on in the battle, before he ran off once again, to give himself some space and time to recover his breath from his latest suicide plan, and to scout the sands for his last opponent, but what he hadn’t wanted was now his reality. This match had come down to him against Pericles, the Titan of Pompeii.

“How is that leg, Pericles?” Harry asked, looking at the blood that covered him. Harry had noticed, during the angry charge at him, that Pericles was not as fast as he had been, that he was having difficulty turning his body to his left. The wound was deep, and debilitating, even if just slightly. It was enough to give Harry an edge. One that he couldn’t squander and had to use. He would come at Pericles from his left as much as possible.

Pericles didn’t answer him, but he turned to Harry and his hand clenched on his sica. Harry was about to find out why he was the Titan of Pompeii, he was sure. He pulled his magic in tighter to himself. Just one more opponent and he could go back to Barca. Back to the ludus and to Pietros.

Harry needed to think of a way through this, but he was bone tired now, completely exhausted. He just wanted to lie down and catch his breath, and maybe sleep for a week. He would sleep forever if he laxed his guard, and it was with that in mind that he steeled himself, and gripped tighter on his sword.

He was breathing hard, and he knew Pericles could see it, the opened faced helmet of his opponent allowed Harry to see the slight smile on his face, as Pericles watched his heaving chest. He was too fucking young for this. Boys usually weren’t sold to ludi to start their training until they were sixteen, when they had a bit of muscle, when they actually stood a chance, even if it was a small one. He had been fourteen, and he was only just coming up to fifteen now. He wondered if Pericles would be his undoing. This was the primus match, it was sine missione, which meant that the match was to the death, and Harry doubted that Pericles would give him any opportunity to use the missio, like Spartacus had gotten away with in his primus match against Crixus at the Vulcanalia, which seemed like a decade ago now.

Harry saw the movement before it happened, and he wasn’t surprised that Pericles came at him with a wild barrage of slashes that he had to desperately fend off. Pericles was keeping his injured left side away from Harry, but that was the least of his worries as he used his shield to fend off attacks from the curved sica, which kept catching at his shield, threatening to rip it away from his hand, as it was designed to do.

Harry was too tired, and it was inevitable that that curved sword finally found an opening to exploit. Harry couldn’t stop the scream when the sica hooked around his left arm, and sliced through it. If he hadn’t protected his skin with his magic then it would have severed his arm completely, and he saw Pericles’ bewildered look. He knew that that slash should have severed his arm too, and not given the relatively shallow cut it had.

Pericles actually stood back from him and checked the edge of his sword with his thumb, and frowned when he found it sharp. The sica was a relatively blunted weapon, the back edge of it was blunt, but the forward blade was razor sharp, and it should have taken off Harry’s arm, they both knew it.

Harry spared a look at his wound, a sharp, unbearable pain that grew worse with every move he made, and already contaminated with sweat and sand. The blood had already coated his arm, but at least it wouldn’t reach his hands and compromise his grip thanks to the rough fabric tied around his wrists like the ancient equivalent of a sweatband.

Harry’s chest was heaving, as he tried to breathe through the pain and exhaustion. Night was coming, and with it compromised visibility and blind spots caused by the setting sun. This match had gone on for an hour already, or Harry was no judge. Endurance and stamina still weren’t his greatest skills, he needed a trick to take out Pericles, an opportunity to use his magic to his advantage.

Pericles rushed him again, forcing him onto the defensive, but now every hit taken to his shield spread agony up his wounded arm, and a particularly vicious slash dropped Harry’s arm, his shield going down with it, and Pericles was ready, waiting for it, and the shield took Harry in the head, sprawling him out on the sand. A sitting duck waiting to be shot.

His magic hummed, almost buzzing in alarm, and Harry had no time to catch his breath, no time to recover from the dizzying blow to his head. He had to move. His magic made him feel like he had all the time in the world, but again it was likely only a split second, and Harry rolled to the side just as the tip of the sica was buried into the sand where Harry had been lying.

He thrust his own sword up, to punch through Pericles’ thigh…he’d missed his mark and the blade went through the outside, not the inside, but it was enough. Harry rolled to his knees, taking a much needed breath as a yelling Pericles examined the new wound, to his left leg. Harry would have preferred the right, the opposite side to the hip wound, but truly he would take what he could fucking get at this point.

He cooled himself with a small breeze of magic, and it stopped him from feeling so dizzy, and Harry struggled to get back to his feet. He tasted blood, so Pericles’ hit with the shield had definitely damaged something, whether his lip, his nose, or just some skin, it was impossible to tell when his body was one massive ache and the adrenaline was numbing everything.

“Not long now, boy.” Pericles taunted him.

Harry couldn’t help the thrill of fear that caused him. He knew that they were just words, spoken to him to make him scared, like other arena tricks to anger an opponent, to put them off, or make them lose courage, but he couldn’t help but think that Pericles was right. He wouldn’t survive much more of this.

Pericles came for him again, always on the offensive. It was like he didn’t know how to do any defensive work, and Harry needed to use that to his advantage. If he could just get Pericles on the back foot, get him on the defensive, or perhaps get him to overextend, he needed something. A miracle would be nice.

Pericles adopted the same tactic as before, concentrating his attacks on Harry’s shield, on his weakened arm, and once again Harry’s shield dropped after one hit too many.

Harry ducked down low, trying to avoid the sica that came for him. His magic hummed, and Harry was forced to do what Pericles had done right at the beginning of their match, and take the sica into a less fatal part of his body.

It punched through his left shoulder, instead of his neck, almost taking off the entire top skin of his shoulder with the hooked edge, and Harry screeched, his voice so high and childish that his scream actually echoed in the arena, and Pericles grinned, feeling that he was close to winning this bout as they separated off a little.

Hot blood flowed down Harry’s chest from the wound, but it wasn’t fatal, not yet. His left arm was now agony, useless, his shield was lost, dropped to the sand and he’d be unable to recover it with Pericles advancing on him.

Pericles looked too strong, despite his own injuries, but Harry refused to give up. Already he’d set his magic to healing the shoulder wound, to covering it over just for a little while longer so it didn’t cost him the match. He pulled the second gladius from his belt, where he had stored it after taking it from the first hoplomachus he’d killed. If he had to become a dimachaerus for now, despite no formal training in the art, he would.

Pericles gave him no time to recover himself, he barely gave Harry enough time to pull the second gladius from his belt, before he fell upon him again, and Harry used the two swords as both shield and weapon.

Pericles either didn’t know what defensive was, or he disliked going onto it. Not once did he use his shield as anything other than a weapon to try to hit Harry with. If he needed to avoid one of Harry’s thrusts, he dodged, which not only drained him of energy, but it couldn’t have been comfortable on his wounded left leg.

Harry forced Pericles to use his left side. He forced Pericles to twist with it, to move onto his left leg, and Harry saw the tightening around his eyes every time he was forced to take weight upon that leg. Harry had to use it to his advantage, and soon, or he was as good as dead.

He blocked the sica with his right gladius, he used the left to batter away the shield that had been thrust out at him, gritting his teeth through that pain it caused his shoulder. The kick aimed at his knee almost snapped his leg in half at the knee joint, it felt like it had been dislocated, and Harry found himself back on the sands.

His magic hummed, and he barely avoided the curved sica. Instead of going through his chest, it sliced all down his arm and he screamed yet again. It was his right arm this time…his main sword arm.

“Give up, little boy. I will make the final blow quick.” Pericles assured him. “You have fought well, and have killed four men. You have made a good show of yourself, and deserve to die honourably, I will grant you that. I am the Titan of Pompeii, and no shit from Capua can best me.”

Harry’s right arm was shaking, trembling. He could barely hold his sword straight, and Pericles smirked as he saw, a cruel slash tilting up the right side of his mouth, his brown eyes promising death in whatever form Harry chose.

Harry found his feet, just barely able to take the weight on what felt like a broken leg, and it was almost like he was back on the training sands again, refusing to use the missio, refusing to give up and know when he was beaten, he stood and he faced Pericles again with a straight spine.

The exact same tactic, hammering blows against him until one of his arms gave in, and Pericles would have a chance to skewer him yet again with the sica.

The blood that had dried to his chest was pulling at his skin now, even as fresh blood came from his shoulder, there was sand stuck to it, and likely irritating his wounds too. Harry wouldn’t last another round, and they both knew it, but Pericles had now grown arrogant. He’d forgotten the danger of cornering an injured animal, and he let his guard down. Despite all that Harry had done, Pericles still saw him as just a little boy, a heavily injured one at that, and as little threat to him now that he believed his victory was assured, and that would be his end.

Another barrage of slashes, and once again Harry went to the sands, exhausted and breathing laboriously, with Pericles stood looming above him. An ostentatious, showy move, his shield thrown away, both hands on his sica, thrust right back behind him for an overhead killing blow to please the crowd, and Harry’s two gladii went straight through that exposed belly.

The crowd roared and screamed at the turn of events. Something that they weren’t expecting, and it pleased them much more than the showy move that had ultimately killed the arrogant Pericles.

“Looks like you shouldn’t have underestimated me.” Harry told the dying Pericles, using the last of his energy to slice out both swords to rip up Pericles’ insides, to kill him fully, his magic holding away that dangerous sica, which had been thrust down in an attempt to take him to death also.

He took a moment. He had to. He felt sick and shaky. The crowd was roaring his name. A repeated chant of Harian, Harian, Harian, which almost deafened him. His vision was going blurry, his wounds were getting to him. He set his remaining magic to healing what it could, and he forced himself to his feet on shaky legs. He could barely take the weight onto the one leg that Pericles had kicked.

He had to look around to find the gate he’d come through, the one where Oenomaus was stood, waiting to receive him. He was stumbling, his legs weak and jelly like, unable to hold him. He couldn’t raise either arm to receive the acclaim of the crowd, his right arm was on fire, and the shoulder of his left wouldn’t allow him to even move his elbow.

He kept his feet only as long as it took him to make it off the sands. He fell into Oenomaus’ arms and his legs refused to hold any more of his weight.

“Harian?”

He couldn’t answer, he was gasping for breath. He was supported upright by one strong arm and a hand probed at his wounds.

Harry was pulled along, and he was taken the opposite way from the cells. He was taken to a room that had several butchered, moaning men on wooden tables, being seen to by three medici.

One of them hurried over as Oenomaus escorted him in, and Harry was hefted up and laid down on one of the bloodstained tables after it had been confirmed that he had emerged the victor of his match. His legs and arms were immediately shackled to it by Roman guards, but the medicus immediately started checking on his wounds, probing with bloodstained hands.

“Barca.” Harry forced out.

“He cannot come here, Harian.” Oenomaus told him. “He must remain in the cells.”

“Pietros.”

Oenomaus sighed, realising that the boy was likely delirious, and he left Harian to the care of the medicus and he moved to go and check on the other gladiators, who would shortly be moved back to the ludus. It was yet to be seen if Harian could go with them.

“Where is he?” Barca demanded, as soon as he came into sight without Harian.

“He succumbed to his wounds just as he reached the gate, Barca.” He said softly, taking no pleasure in having to tell Barca the state of his lover. “He is with a medicus.”

“How bad is he?” Crixus demanded, his face worried and fierce. He might try to act as if Harian hadn’t wormed his way into his heart, but the boy clearly had.

“The wounds are extensive.” He said with a sad sigh. “The one to his shoulder is of particular worry, as is that leg.”

“Will he pull through?” Barca asked, his face devoid of expression, but his dark eyes held all the worry his face didn’t show.

“He is a stubborn boy, he may pull through.” Oenomaus said, in place of answering definitively either way. “Prepare yourselves, we head back to the ludus.”

“Without Harian?” Agron asked.

“Harian will remain here until he is strong enough to be moved.”

“You would tell me if he was worse than you were saying?” Barca asked him.

“I would not hide his condition from you, Barca. I will tell you if he worsens.”

“I want to be with him.”

“You know that you cannot. You are to go back to the ludus, Barca.”

“I will not leave him.”

“Will you leave Pietros to think that you have both fallen on the sands?” Oenomaus challenged. He didn’t relish the pained look on Barca’s face, as he warred between his two lovers. “Pietros is of a delicate heart, he would not wait for explanation, but will think the worst when neither you nor Harian appear back at the ludus. He will listen to you when you explain that Harian has not fallen, but instead came out as victor in such a fight.”

Oenomaus attended to the duties he kept after each of the matches, none more pressing than going to collect Harian’s very large purse of coin from the bet maker, who tried to use a grunt to keep Oenomaus at bay, but he was not a former champion gladiator for nothing.

He immediately went to check in on Harian, who seemed more settled, but he was now unconscious, and would not be moved tonight, but on the morrow. The medicus overseeing Harian told him that the boy was not strong enough to survive any sort of journey and that if he was moved tonight then he would likely die along the way.

He headed back to the other gladiators, to relay the news that Harian yet lived, but would remain with the arena medici for the night.

The walk back to the ludus was slow, and absent their Dominus, who had headed quickly to the town to answer a message of magistrate Calavius with his guards, and the young boy Numerius.

Harian’s match against Pericles had taken a very long time, and night had already fallen by the time they had left the arena, not aided by the delay before the primus. Oenomaus was on high alert for any piece of scum in the shadows, who would slip any of the men chained in a line beside him a dagger to ‘punish’ them for any lost bets, but all was quiet.

When they finally arrived back at the ludus, Oenomaus saw the looks on the faces of the gladiators left behind as they walked through the gate, seeing and cheering the blooded, injured Crixus who walked through first, Agron and Duro, and then Barca at the end of the line, by himself…they saw immediately that Harian was missing from the line-up.

“Barca, where is lucky tiny?!” Donar immediately roared, dropping the dice in his hand to the floor as he rose to his feet.

“His luck finally ran out?” Hamilcar asked.

“Five opponents in a primus, I said it would be too much for him!” Rabanus insisted to the others.

“The Titan of Pompeii takes another of Capua’s gladiators.” Ortius sighed sadly.

Pietros was already in tears as he ran to Barca, clutching at him.

“Calm your whining!” Barca roared out. “Harian yet lives. He won his primus match. Pericles is dead.” He said angrily.

“He lives?” Pietros asked softly, still clutching at Barca.

“He lives, but his fight was hard won, and he has stayed with the arena medici to recover.”

“Our tiny brother will return to us when he can.” Crixus added, as he was unchained.

“Crixus, to the medicus. The rest of you, go and bathe yourselves and get some sleep.”

Oenomaus patrolled for a while, but he was as drained as those who had fought. Barca had won the rudis, and he would leave the ludus tomorrow with Pietros. Harian might not even be here by then, but as Oenomaus knelt in front of his private altar, he prayed to his gods that Harian survived, and that he came back with enough time to say goodbye to his two freed lovers.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ X

Harry woke up groggy and in absolute agony. He groaned and grunted, squirming, but he realised quickly that he was restrained by his arms, legs, and chest.

“Ah, you have awoken.”

Harry opened his eyes and took a moment to remember what had happened, when he didn’t immediately recognise anything around him.

He did, however, recognise the man standing over him. He was the same medicus who had stitched him up before, the one he had tipped heavily for his care.

“I didn’t die then?” He asked, his voice a harsh croak.

“No. You yet walk among the living. I have looked after you all night. It has been close at times, but you will survive.”

Harry grunted.

“You must sit up. Now that you are awake, you are to head back to your ludus. Your Dominus has sent guards to escort you back.”

Harry was unchained, and helped to sit up. He limped outside, every step an agonising struggle, the knee that Pericles had kicked was swollen and threatened to buckle with every step, he was very grateful to see the cart outside. It was usually used for transporting the severely injured, or corpses, but at least he wouldn’t have to walk back up the mountain to the ludus. Harry only had to limp to it and clamber on. The guards chained him to the back by his hands, but Harry didn’t care about that, as he laid down in the back and tried to rest.

He hoped he was not too late to see off Barca and Pietros. His heart was hammering, and Harry was fretting too much to actually sleep, but he didn’t have the energy to remain sitting up. Not to mention that it hurt too much.

It took a while to reach the ludus, and Harry felt drained from the journey. He was in and out of consciousness and didn’t exactly know where he was, but a hand touched his face and he blinked open his eyes to see Oenomaus looking at him worriedly. Harry smiled.

“Ah, so you yet live, Harian.” The man told him, but he had spoken too loudly for it to be for Harry’s benefit.

There was a rush as several men, all of them Harry knew, rushed the cart and came to look at him themselves.

The garish stitching wouldn’t have been out of place on Frankenstein’s creation, and Harry was covered in dried blood, sand, and dirt still. He’d had no sleep, so his eyes were likely bruised, and he already knew he had facial injuries because he’d tasted the blood.

It was Donar who helped Harry to sit up, and Oenomaus took the keys to his chains from the guards to free him from the cart. Harry was pulled down from the cart, but his legs were so weak he couldn’t keep his feet. If it weren’t for Donar’s quick reflexes he’d have hit the sand.

“See him straight to the medicus, Donar.” Their Doctore demanded. “Harian still needs care.”

“Come, tiny.” Donar said, picking him up and carrying him easily to the medicus’ room.

“Barca? Pietros?” Harry questioned.

“Both still abed.” Donar told him. “I will send them straight to you when they awaken.”

“Wake their lazy arses up.” Harry complained. “They are free, they leave today. They can sleep when they are from my arms.”

Donar laughed. “I will do as you instruct, tiny.”

“Harian, how do you fare?”

Harry turned to see that he was sharing the medicus’ rooms with three others. Spartacus was still down here, unconscious or sleeping, it was hard to tell. There was a dead man on the other side of him, just lying there with a chunk missing from his neck. Then the one who had spoken to him. Crixus was sat up, the restraints which were holding Spartacus down were absent on Crixus, and he was in the bed that was opposite the dead man.

“Better.” Harry insisted, as Donar placed him very gently down on a free bed, the one next to Crixus, opposite the sleeping Spartacus.

The medicus hurried over, and he shooed Donar away, back to the sands, before he checked on each of Harry’s wounds, and his stitching.

“You will take some weeks to heal.” He said. “The wounds must be kept clean. Infection is still a risk. You will stay here for a few days to recover.”

Harry was not restrained to the bed, but he couldn’t have moved anyway. He turned his head to look at Crixus, and smiled at him.

“At least you have company this time.” Harry croaked out.

“Are you truly feeling well?”

“I don’t think I’m ready to take on Pericles again, or even the palus, but I will recover…eventually.”

“Words that gladden heart.” Crixus told him. “You fought so well, we were hopeful for you, until it came down to you and Pericles. Barca was too afraid to even blink, just in case you fell on the sands. His grip on the grille threatened to tear it off.”

“I barely remember anything of the match.” Harry admitted. “I remember how desperate I was. How tired I was getting. The wounds added to it, of course. But…he didn’t go on the defensive, not once. He was all offensive, so when he went for that showy finish, I was waiting.”

“We all let out a prayer to the gods when we saw you surge upwards, when we saw both of your gladii punch through him.” Crixus told him. “A tiny boy like you, winning a primus fight against five men…one of them Pericles, the Titan of Pompeii.” Crixus gave him a proud grin, and Harry smiled tiredly.

Pounding footsteps on stone, and Barca burst into the room, Pietros close behind him. Harry turned his head to smile at them, and he tried to lift his arm, but it was leaden, and shaky.

Pietros took his hand, and held it, supported it, while Barca touched his face, bending to kiss him.

“How are you feeling?” Pietros asked him, looking at him tearfully.

“Tired and sore.” Harry replied, but he couldn’t stop smiling. “I am glad to see your faces. I was worried you would be gone when I got back.”

“We do leave today, we cannot put it off. Dominus only allowed us to stay overnight as a reward for you and your success.” Pietros told him. “He has no reason to allow us to stay longer when we are no longer of value to him.”

“Do not fret for me. You leave me in good care, with our brothers. I have survived five on one matches, facing off against Pericles, and regardless that I was injured, I am still alive with no lasting injuries. Medicus says I will be fine in two or three weeks.”

“Will you not try to heal yourself with your ability?” Crixus asked in a whisper.

“I would, but I believe I’ve earned a three week rest.” Harry said softly.

That made the three of them laugh. Pietros stroked a hand over his face, touching him gently.

“He has not stirred at all?” Barca asked Crixus, nodding to Spartacus.

“He was awake a little last night. His fever has broken, but he was too weak to say much. He does not know yet that he missed the games against Pompeii.” Crixus told them. “He hasn’t woken up since.”

“Who is that?” Barca nodded to the dead body.

“I don’t know. He was dead when I came back to the ludus. Medicus has left him there, waiting for someone to pick him up. No one seems to care about him.”

“He was the man who…who…” Harry pulled a face and inhaled, as he tried to sit up and it pulled on something that didn’t like being pulled.

Pietros rushed to support him, even as Barca tried to hold him down.

“He was the driver of the cart that brought Sura back to Spartacus.” Harry finished. “He was attacked by the bandits.”

“He must have stayed to work for Dominus.” Pietros said.

“Well, that wound in his neck certainly killed him off.” Crixus said. “It looks like human teeth.”

“Someone got hungry.” Harry commented.

The three looked at him, and Crixus and Barca laughed, while Pietros made a wet snuffling noise and reached out for him again.

Harry forced his arms up to hug him tight. His left arm was infinitely heavier than the right, and the pinch in his shoulder had him grunting with pain.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you.” Pietros told him, trying to pull back.

“Stay still.” Harry encouraged, holding his lover tighter. “I am well, but the stitches in my shoulder pull, that is all.”

“It will be a while before you fight again.” Barca told him with the certainty that came from his experience in the arena.

Harry nodded. “I am glad.” He said. “It’ll be nice to miss out a few weeks of training, and maybe the next round of arena fighting.”

Harry drifted a little, he was too tired to stay completely aware, but neither was he sleeping or unconscious. He was merely resting.

“Harian?” Pietros questioned.

“Delicate boy, leave him to his rest.” Barca chastised. “He needs to sleep to heal.”

“I’m awake.” He said. “Just resting.”

He cracked his eyes open to look up at his two lovers. He smiled.

A hand went into his hair, pulling and comforting him. It was too big to be Pietros’ hands, so it was definitely Barca.

“Remember…remember to buy soil from Vesuvius or I’ll lock you both in a cellar when I reach your shit hole farm that won’t grow anything.”

“Buy seeds here too, but no livestock.” Barca repeated dutifully.

Harry’s smile widened to a grin.

“I will see you both again, one day.” He swore.

“You remember where we’re going?” Pietros asked him, tears welling up in his brown doe-eyes again.

“I remember.” He said. “It matters not, though. I can find you with my ability. We are bound together with our love. If ever I am freed, even if you are a whole world away, and not where you said you would be. I will find you again.”

“You will?” Pietros asked him.

“Yes. Even if you shipwrecked onto a deserted island, I would find you and follow you. You won’t be able to get away from me so easily.”

Pietros hugged him and Harry held him tightly. This would be their last conversation. Their last hugs and kisses, he knew. He would stave off his sleep, no matter how difficult, until they were forced to leave.

“I am glad you are leaving.” He said softly. “I’m glad that you’re getting out safely. Are you all packed and ready?” He asked.

“Yes. I…I could not sleep for worry of you, so I made sure everything was packed last night.” Pietros told him.

“You have taken my coin for seeds and soil?”

“We have left you…”

“No.” Harry shook his head. “The coin I won from this last fight is almost the same as what I had before. You take all of it. All of the coin in the cell we share.”

“We want to leave enough for you to buy your own freedom.” Pietros told him.

“As I said, the coin from the Pompeii fight is almost the same amount as what I had already collected from all my other fights. A fourteen year old boy against five gladiators? Against Pericles the Titan of Pompeii?” Harry laughed. “I won, dearest. The coin I won from that fight was enough to make myself a mountain out of coin. Take all of the rest, for my contribution to the farm. Buy a good one, I like my comforts.”

Barca kissed him, and Harry hummed happily. Pietros followed suit almost as soon as Barca’s lips had left his.

“Careful lovers.” He said breathlessly. “You regretfully cannot rile me up, I’m too injured to do anything about it, and I’m sure Crixus doesn’t want that sort of show put on in front of him.”

“By the gods, do not even dare!” Crixus threatened from the bed beside his own, glaring over at the three of them.

“What is happening?”

Harry looked over as Spartacus wriggled on his bed, testing the restraints holding him down.

“You have to share your room.” Harry teased.

Spartacus looked as much as he could over at him and Crixus, both blooded and stitched up.

“What happened to you both?!” He demanded.

“You’ve been asleep for a while, caught in your fever dreams.” Harry told him. “The games against Pompeii were yesterday.”

“I was to fight in the primus. Against Pericles.” Spartacus said, his face frowning as he recalled.

“Well you couldn’t do that, could you?” Harry teased.

“Did you take my place?” Spartacus asked Crixus.

“Not me.” Crixus replied.

“I had to.” Harry said, smiling tenuously. “With my original four opponents still.”

“You fought the primus, against five men?” Spartacus asked in shock and horror, looking more closely at the state of him.

Harry nodded. “I survived it. No one else did.” He said simply.

“How badly injured are you?” Spartacus asked him seriously, looking as guilty as hell.

“I’ll be out of training for a few weeks, that is all. My shoulder is the real hindrance.” He said, touching the thick, black stitching there. There was more stitching at the back of his arm, where Pericles’ sica was meant to have severed his arm, but his magic hadn’t let it. His magic was already healing his leg.

“You fought five opponents, and won?” Spartacus asked him. “Would that I could have seen it.”

“If you had been there Harian would have only faced four opponents, and not Pericles!” Pietros said harshly.

“Pietros, it wasn’t Spartacus’ decision to put me in the primus fight, nor to add in my original four opponents. That was all down to Roman shits.” Harry said gently, reaching out to touch the Egyptian.

“He fought well.” Crixus boasted. “The retiarius did not last more than a moment after sign was given to begin.”

“I stabbed him in the kidney.” Harry agreed.

“What were others?” Spartacus asked.

“Two hoplomachi this time, a murmillo, and Pericles fought as thraex.” Harry told him.

“Did you kill a hoplomachus with his own spear?”

Harry laughed. “One died with my dagger in his face.”

“The other was a move by a mad fuck!” Crixus interrupted.

“Like my leap against the arena wall.” Harry nodded. “His throat was still cut to the spine.”

“Only after you had killed the murmillo. I swore to my brothers watching that the hoplomachus had seen you. He had seen you behind his brother, and still let you kill him.”

“They were rivals.” Harry said, remembering in patchy flashbacks what had happened. “They hated one another, and the hoplomachus had seen me, and he did let me kill his brother.”

“Stupid, mad fuck!” Crixus burst out. “I would never allow any man from another ludus kill any of my brothers in front of me, not even in the arena! Not even you.” He directed at Spartacus.

“Good fortune for me, as I was able to take the match down to two onto one. He allowed me to even the odds more in my favour.”

“It came down to you against Pericles, then?” Spartacus asked.

“I had not wanted it. I tried to take out Pericles after the retiarius. I did not want Pericles as my last opponent, but he was. All of my injuries came from him, in our one on one match. I have decided I do not like the sica.”

Harry looked at the stitching on his arms, the left where the sica had hooked him and cut through, and the right where it had sliced a healthy line all down his sword arm.

“The first injury. You used your ability, I thought that you would lose your arm. Pericles thought as such too, if his actions after the injury were any indicator.” Barca said.

Harry nodded. “Instead of severing my arm, my ability caused enough of a barrier to prevent the cut from going in deeper. The same with this one.” He said, just barely touching the shoulder wound. “It should have been lower, deeper, but it wasn’t.”

“It’s terrifying that you can do such things.” Crixus told him.

Harry grinned then, tired and pained, but the intent was there.

“I am a formidable force. More so now that I am coming into manhood. My ability grows stronger every day. I am just angry that I am no longer receiving proper instruction with it. I am taking what little I learnt before I fell into slaver hands and trying to force it to my own needs. Or to those of my brothers.” He said pointedly, giving a look to Crixus and Spartacus.

“Are all the peoples of Britannia like you?” Pietros asked.

Harry shook his head. “Not all of us, but there is a reason why the druids are so feared and respected.”

“You were to be a druid then. What happened? Why did they see you to slaver hands?” Barca asked him.

“It may surprise you all, but I have never really liked doing as I was told.”

That made all of them laugh, and Harry managed a smile.

“I said before, I never really respected the proper people, those that I was told I should respect. I have always felt that I will respect a man when he has given me a reason to do so, not because I have been told he deserves it. I was…powerful.” He said haltingly, grimacing a little as he remembered Voldemort on the back of Quirrell’s head, boasting of the extraordinary things they could do together. He remembered Ollivander as he handed over the wand that was brother to Voldemort’s, telling him that Voldemort was terrible, but great, and how the same could be expected of him.

“That was why you were handed over to slavers, wasn’t it?” Pietros said softly. “They feared you.”

“I’ll never know, Pietros. I was marked out early in life. Very early. Much younger than the average apprentice, I cannot give you an exact age, I was still a baby at the time. As I grew, and became the age of a proper apprentice, they expected me to do great things. Terrible things. I told you that Celtic culture keeps to human sacrifice. Knowing me as you do, could you ever see me killing a sacrifice to intone rites? Me, who struggled to kill in the arena when it was kill or be killed?”

“You don’t keep to the gods.” Pietros told him.

“I have seen the terrible things that people will do for the gods. The things they will do in the name of the gods. I have seen the price such things demand. I want no part of any of it, and if that means keeping to no gods, then I am godless and happier for it.”

“The gods seem not to mind, as they have yet to strike you down despite being given ample opportunity.” Crixus pointed out.

Harry chuckled. “It would seem that they don’t mind me not showing them such fawning respect.”

They all fell quiet, but Harry sighed heavily and turned to his lovers.

“I have…run out of time it seems to kill Ashur in front of you, Barca. But please know that the deed will be done, and by my own hand. He will not get away with trying to have you killed.”

“Ashur is not on my mind in light of other events.” Barca told him, laying a big hand on Harry’s thin chest, and petting it.

“It is on my mind.” Harry assured him. “I will not allow him to get away with it.”

“Are you sure you can do it?” Spartacus asked him, and there was a change in him, a look, an edge to his voice, and Harry looked at him consideringly, wondering what was on his friend’s mind.

Harry gave a vicious smile. “My ability grows stronger every day, Spartacus. I have always been able to cause pain with it. I’ve always been able to kill with it, but I’ve always needed a reason to use it in such a way, and I’ve never had a reason to use it before…until now. Until Ashur.”

“This was what you meant before, when you broke words with Ashur over owed coin!” Barca said, understanding dawning over him.

“He really didn’t like what I did to him, or the pain it caused. There is a reason he is so afraid of me…so afraid that he refuses to come down to the ludus, and taunt the real gladiators as he once did, over his perceived elevated position.”

Crixus laughed, long and loud.

“He has been careful in recent weeks. Very careful. But he will come down to the ludus again, whether through foolishness, or orders, but he will be down here again and I will have my chance.”

“Do you have to be close to someone to do it?” Spartacus asked him, and there was definitely something there, in his voice, in the gleam in his eyes. Something had changed, or perhaps completely snapped in Spartacus since his fever.

“No. Truly I could kill him from here, but where is the fun in that? I want to see him writhing on the floor and hear him screaming.”

“I didn’t know that.” Crixus said, looking at him.

“The ability, when I am older and full grown, will be limitless.” Harry said carefully. “I will be able to do what I want with it, and bend things to my own will, even people.”

“You could control people?” Spartacus asked, and there was definitely something in his voice now. Harry looked at Barca to see if he saw it, and from the frown on his mouth, he saw it too.

“For a small moment, maybe. I am too young to have such control, but in time, yes.”

“Have you tried it?”

Harry shook his head. “No. I was tempted against Gnaeus, as he dangled me over the edge of the cliff. If I could have taken control and had him put me back on solid ground, I would have done so. I didn’t know the effects, I didn’t know if he would hesitate just long enough to drop me, or if it would have worked at all. I haven’t had a chance to test it.”

“Try it now.” Spartacus encouraged him.

“On what?” Harry demanded. “I refuse to take away the free will of my own friends!” Harry said angrily.

“Try it on me.”

“Spartacus…” Harry tried.

“No. I am asking you to try it on me.”

“He is injured. He needs his ability for healing!” Pietros said, laying a hand on Harry’s chest, as if to shield him from Spartacus.

“No, if he wishes for demonstration, I will comply.” Harry sighed. “I just hate that this may take my friends from me. Many a man has asked for _demonstrations_ from me, and when I have done so they have turned from me in fear and hate.”

“We are more than friends, we are brothers.” Crixus said passionately. “You have never used these abilities to hurt any of us, only to help us, to heal us, and when in drought to chill us under unbearable sun. Spartacus is a mad fuck who wishes for demonstration, but I will not turn from you in the aftermath.”

Harry sat up a little and a bit of concentration had the buckles of the restraints over Spartacus pulling apart with no one touching them. Spartacus was smiling as he saw, even as he sat up.

“I will do this for a moment, I don’t have the energy to waste on this right now, but if it will prove I can do as I say.”

Harry concentrated as hard as he could, and he urged Spartacus to stand up. The look of confusion on his friend’s face let Harry know it had worked. He urged Spartacus to go over to Crixus, to take his blanket and tuck it up to his chin.

“Have you lost mind?!” Crixus demanded, trying to fight Spartacus for his blanket.

Harry giggled. “He has. Sort of.”

“This is you? Make him fucking stop!”

“You looked cold.” Harry said innocently. “Let Spartacus help you.”

Harry did make the little fight stop though, and Spartacus put a hand to his head, now back in control of himself.

“How did it feel?” Barca asked him.

“It was the strangest thing. My mind was telling me to do these things, and I was questioning why I would do such a thing, even as I was doing it.”

“If you know what is happening then you know you aren’t in control. You can try to fight against it, though when I am older then I would have complete control. I could make you do anything, even kill yourself, and you would not be able to stop yourself from doing as I want you to.”

Spartacus nodded, and came to him and gave him a soft touch, likely to prove that he thought no differently of him.

“Gratitude for doing as I asked, and allowing me to feel this ability.”

“So, a man would feel it if you were to force him to do something?” Crixus asked.

“Yes.” Spartacus answered. “It did not feel natural. I still did as Harian wanted, but I knew that it was not me thinking as such. I would never have thought to tuck Crixus in like a babe.”

Harry giggled.

“Why do you not use as such to bring Ashur down into the ludus?” Pietros asked him.

Harry blinked. “I did not think of it.” Harry laughed then. “Perhaps you will get to see Ashur’s death after all, my loves.”

“Do not allow revenge to threaten your healing!” Barca chastised him.

“I am feeling better.” Harry assured him. “I was always going to see you off from ludus, so my being there will not cause suspicion. Dominus will be there, and I will make Ashur come too. He will die before all of us. I swear it.”

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ X

It was not two hours later that Harry had to be supported out on the training sands to see off Barca and Pietros. He was sad, even as all the gladiators gathered to say goodbye to Barca, even Crixus and Spartacus.

Harry hugged Barca tight, and kissed him. He did the same to Pietros. He warned them again to get soil from Vesuvius, and that he demanded a goat named after him. It was bittersweet to have the day of their release from slavery come. He was happy for them, so relieved that they would be free and safe, but at the same time he wanted them close to him. He didn’t want them to leave him, but he squashed those selfish thoughts. Barca had paid his dues and deserved some happiness. Pietros had been born a slave and deserved to know what true freedom felt like. They deserved to be free.

Their Dominus was there, to once again hand the rudis to Barca in front of all the other gladiators, and Harry had forced Ashur to come down into the ludus as well. The man kept flinching, darting a terrified look to him. Harry smirked at Ashur, the time had come, and Harry slowly drew a finger across his throat in a wordless threat. Ashur took a step back in terror, but it was too late.

It happened suddenly, as Ashur screamed and fell to the sands. No one was near him, men were confused as they turned and looked at him, as he writhed around the sands, his body bucking as if his muscles were tearing apart.

“What in the name of the gods is happening?” Batiatus roared, as he turned to look at the commotion. “Fetch the medicus!”

They all stood and watched in a horrified fascination as blood started pouring from Ashur’s nose and ears. Men leapt back when the blood started coming from his eyes also. The screaming took up another pitch. Harry made sure that the pain was unbearable.

“Harian, what is this? Can you do anything to help him?” Batiatus asked him.

Harry made himself look innocently curious. “I have never seen anything like this before, Dominus.” He insisted, making his voice soft and tired, even as he tweaked his magic and sent Ashur into another spasm, ripping another scream from him. “I fear that I am too injured to try anything, my arms do not work too well at the moment, and I fear I would cause more harm than good, to Ashur and to myself. I would sooner wait for the medicus.”

“Of course.” Batiatus murmured. “You need to recover, quickly. I won’t risk you on this idle task.”

Ashur twisted himself into impossible shapes, clawing at himself, and rolling, screaming until his throat tore and blooded his teeth and tongue. If he got too close to anyone, they hurried away. The medicus, when he arrived, was at a complete loss.

“I do not know what this is. There is not even a wound on him.” He said, even as he tried to hold Ashur still. “There is no usual sign of poison, he is not even foaming at the mouth. It must be some Assyrian disease.”

“Do not let him infect the gladiators!” Batiatus roared. “Throw him over the cliff, immediately. None of you touch him!”

The medicus hefted the still living Ashur over to the cliff, and Harry stopped all the magic on Ashur, just as he was kicked over the side. He stifled a cruel little giggle.

“You are terrifying.” Barca told him in a whisper.

“You have nothing to fear from me, I love you.”

“I have never been more glad of that.” Barca told him, kissing him gently.

Pietros stole another kiss, and then it was with heavy hearts that Harry was passed to Spartacus, so that he could be held upright, as Barca and Pietros left the ludus, ready to start their new lives as free men.

Harry’s throat felt tight, his eyes stung, but he refused to allow any tears to fall. He would join them, even if he had to use his magic to do so.

The gate clanged shut, and to Harry it felt so final. He smiled as Pietros looked back at him, through the bars that now separated them. Harry wished them all the luck in the world.

“Spartacus, you have yet risen from the dead.” Batiatus exclaimed, turning from Barca and Pietros and to more interesting matters, such as Spartacus’ complete recovery. “Are you well?”

“Yes, Dominus. I am myself again.” Spartacus answered, but his arm tensed where it touched Harry.

“Words that gladden heart. See Harian back to the medicus, and then see yourself to training.”

“Dominus.” Spartacus agreed with a nod, and he did as told, seeing a distressed, upset, and exhausted Harian to the filthy medicus and then leaving to the training sands, so that his young brother might sleep and rest.

There were things in motion within his mind. Plots that needed thinking about. Spartacus looked around the sands, at the men he had come to know. The men he trained with. Men he needed as his allies. Agron and Duro, they would certainly want to help. Spartacus looked to Crixus, trying against the palus, having refused to head back to the medicus’ rooms. He would be harder to convince.

Harian would be the key to the entire plan. Harian who could control people. Harian who could kill people with his druidic ability without even touching them. He would approach Harian first, once he had recovered a little more, and he would seek his aid. Harian would assuredly want to break free of slavery, if for no other reason than to get back to Barca and Pietros. Their time as slaves was almost at an end. The time had come to break free…almost.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ X

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Well, Barca and Pietros are now free, lovelies. They’re away and safe, on their voyage to Carthage, or what small settlements surround the place where Carthage used to be, and Ashur, the fucking snake, is now dead. I do like that cliff edge…at least when it’s not Harry going over it.
> 
> Spartacus’ plot is coming together, his fever dreams led him to reveal the truth about his beloved Sura, and that she was killed by the driver, Aulus, on Batiatus’ orders, and now the Thracian beast inside him has awoken once more….hence his words to Batiatus ‘I am myself again’ meaning he is once again the Thracian he once was at heart, and not a meek slave.
> 
> Harry survived the games against Pompeii, then I suppose that you readers always knew that he would. It wasn’t a question of whether or not he would survive, but more a question of how he survived it. The answer to which is just barely. That match against Pericles was very hard fought, and he is now severely injured, but he’s alive. He will survive, and he will heal.
> 
> We have just two chapters left now, lovelies, so I’ll see you again in a week. Until then,
> 
> StarLight Massacre. X


	13. Propositum

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last Time
> 
> There were things in motion within his mind. Plots that needed thinking about. Spartacus looked around the sands, at the men he had come to know. The men he trained with. Men he needed as his allies. Agron and Duro, they would certainly want to help. Spartacus looked to Crixus, trying against the palus, having refused to head back to the medicus’ rooms. He would be harder to convince.
> 
> Harian would be the key to the entire plan. Harian who could control people. Harian who could kill people with his druidic ability without even touching them. He would approach Harian first, once he had recovered a little more, and he would seek his aid. Harian would assuredly want to break free of slavery, if for no other reason than to get back to Barca and Pietros. Their time as slaves was almost at an end. The time had come to break free…almost.

Chapter Thirteen – Propositum

Harry recovered slowly. Truthfully he was enjoying the break from the extensive training. He still couldn’t really use his arms, but the left was infinitely worse than his right, because of the shoulder injury.

He had been allowed free from the medicus’ rooms only that afternoon, but he was not allowed to train. Instead he was sat in the eating area, trying to ignore the gnawing ache in his heart that the absence of Barca and Pietros caused.

Harry had been forced to abstain from the next arena showings because of his healing injuries. Crixus had what was considered the primus fight, but in name it was Spartacus, who had been set as the executioner for Solonius, who was named to the primus, but it would be Crixus who fought the more skilled opponent.

The dozen men who had attended the games came back at sundown, as per usual, and they were blooded, tired, some of them with injuries, but Harry witnessed their smiles, as they saw him sat upright in the eating area.

“Harian, you have broken free of the medicus?” Agron called out.

“This time he gave his permission for me to leave.” Harry said with a small, tired grin.

Donar hurried over as soon as he was unchained, and Harry was clasped into a gentle hug.

“We are glad to see you, tiny!” He said sincerely.

“I can’t let any of you be free of me for too long. You might forget that you are goats, and not men.”

There was heckling, shouts, and laughter, but Harry felt too sad, too consumed with grief to join them more than giving a half-hearted smile.

Crixus gave him a gentle touch, and Spartacus sat at his side to offer his support.

“It gladdens heart to see you up and about once more.” Spartacus told him. “You had beloved brothers worried.”

Harry smiled, but he had other things on his mind.

“You killed Solonius?”

“Of course. One old man is no match for me.” Spartacus told him, even as Crixus laughed at Harry’s supposed insult.

“I…I didn’t mean it like that. I am glad. Solonius’ trick is what saw me to this ludus. I am glad he is dead, for the trick to see me dead in his plot to humiliate our Dominus.”

“You were destined for a brothel. You swore that this fate was better.” Crixus reminded him.

“A lie told to brothers so they would not turn from me.” Harry confessed.

“What is your meaning?” Crixus demanded angrily. “Barca is barely from ludus and you speak words of spreading your legs…”

“Shut up.” Harry commanded, as ferociously as he could in his state. “That is not…my head is cluttered thanks to herbs.”

“What is your true meaning?” Spartacus asked. “Would you truly have preferred a brothel?”

“Spartacus. Crixus. You have seen what I can do. Do you really think a mere brothel could have held me for longer than an hour? My own escape from this ludus is prevented by two dozen guards, and Doctore. A brothel will have two guards, just for the door. A mere precaution to prevent men from running off without paying. I could have escaped so easily from a brothel, before I had even been forced to service my first _customer_. But Solonius’ trick saw me here instead. I am glad of it now, of course. I love my brothers. I fell in love with Barca and Pietros, something that wouldn’t have happened if I had been sent to a brothel, but I can still grieve the loss of my innocence. I grieve for the boy I was, the boy who was destroyed on the sands for sport, when I might yet have been free.”

Harry took a breath, looking at his callused hands, caused by hours upon hours of daily training.

“I am allowed to be sad for what happened. I am allowed to be happy that Solonius is dead. I might have been free if I had been seen to a brothel, instead of to this ludus.”

“You might yet be free again.” Spartacus told him, reaching out to clasp his hands in his own bigger ones.

Harry sighed. “I do not share your conviction. It will be tens of years before I am allowed to be freed, and I have little hope of reaching such a grand age. I almost died because of Pericles. If he had not gone for that showy finish, I would be dead in his place. I will not survive many more years of this. It is my entire life lived over again, and to me that seems such a very long time.”

“Do not lose heart.” Spartacus told him, clutching his hands tighter, looking at him with soft eyes. “You will be free, and back by Barca’s side. But set mind to healing for now. To resting.”

“Spartacus speaks truly.” Crixus spoke up. “You need to sleep.”

Harry nodded, and he stood with help from the table. He could not bear going to Barca’s cell. The one he had shared with both of his lovers. Instead he went inside the ludus, to the communal cell that he shared with Donar, Fulco, and Pollux. His bed roll was still up at the top of the cell, and he painfully wriggled himself inside it, holding back the screams as best as he could. What he wouldn’t give for a proper pain potion…or even a shot of morphine.

Sleep didn’t come to him easily, as he thought of Barca and Pietros, now free men and collecting the provisions they needed before setting sail for Carthage. It made him feel better to think of them, about what they might be doing, because the thought of them being free genuinely made him happy.

He was drifting when his cell mates came in with him, to sleep themselves, and in his upset Harry sought comfort from Donar. His friend didn’t question Harry shifting over to him, he only put an arm around him and urged him closer, the both of them still in their own separate bed rolls, but cuddling close. Harry wished that Donar were Barca or Pietros, but he was very glad that those he called brothers were not mindless to his grief, as strange as it was seeing as both Barca and Pietros still lived, he still grieved his loss of them. He was glad that they would see him as a young boy still, and hold him when he needed them to, instead of calling him a man and shoving him away to deal with this on his own. He wouldn’t have survived long if they had abandoned him to deal with his grief alone.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ X

Things were almost normal…except Harry wasn’t allowed to train, or move very much. Most of his mornings were taken up with the medicus, who checked on every inch of him, all of his injuries, and his stitching, and then in the afternoon he sat out in the training square and watched his brothers. Today had been no different, only he was sat on the sand in the afternoon, in the shade, instead of in the eating area, but he was watching and calling out to his brothers.

“Ortius, you’re shit!” Harry teased. “I saw that move coming from over here.”

“Tiny, your tongue moves much more sat over in safety!” Ortius told him, giving him a playful glare.

Harry laughed, weakly, but he still laughed.

“How do you fare this afternoon, Harian?” Spartacus asked him, stopping for a moment to grab a cup of water.

Harry grunted. “Still sore. Still pained. But I’m more alert and awake today. For now at least.”

“Remember, if you need to rest, then you rest.” Spartacus told him seriously.

Harry grunted again, and rotated his bad shoulder. It pinched and pulled, and he grimaced.

“Stop that.” Spartacus told him, with all the authority of a father. “You will only make it worse, now stop it.”

Harry gave him a look. “Strange words to come from you, when, mad fuck that you are, you picked and pulled at your own wound until it got infected.”

“I would not see you to same fate.” Spartacus told him seriously.

Harry giggled and nodded. “You win. I’ll leave it alone…, Father.”

“You’re a cheeky, naughty boy.” Spartacus warned him. “Your tongue will get you into trouble.”

“It always does, but I like being cheeky and naughty.”

Spartacus gave him a soft touch, finished his water, and he had to go back to the sands.

“My dead grandmother can fight better than you, Crixus!” Harry called out a moment later.

“I pray to the gods for when you grace the sands again with your presence, so that I might send you back to the medicus!” Crixus roared at him.

Harry laughed. “If you can, you Gaulish goat!”

“Doctore! Permission to see young boy to his bed.” Crixus demanded.

Their Doctore gave a smirk. “Permission denied. Some air will do Harian good.”

Harry laughed more. “Fight! Fight! Fight!” Harry chanted.

Crixus went through an attack series on poor Litaviccus, but Harry wanted to have some fun.

“You’re not moving your left foot, Crixus! You dropped your shoulder into that swing! Crixus, move your foot!”

“Fuck the gods, shut mouth, tiny!” Crixus roared.

Harry giggled, and gave Crixus a cheeky grin. Crixus went from annoyed, to sighing and turning away from him.

Harry knew that they all still struggled to deal with his age…and his diminutive size. Many of them saw him as a lost son. Or a replacement to the sons they had once had. Now that he was visibly struggling with what had happened to him in the last few days, they were more worried for him, and it showed in their care of him, on how they continually checked up on him, and let him get away with more than they usually would. None of them liked seeing him stitched up, and barely able to move through injury, and they all knew he would be upset because of Barca and Pietros leaving the ludus.

“Enough for today, take your last meals and go to bathe.” Their Doctore ordered.

Harry waited, and sure enough Donar hurried over to help lift him from the sand. His arms didn’t work well enough to lift himself from the floor.

“Leave him where he is, Donar!” Crixus complained, even as he indicated that Donar should sit Harry next to him.

“Lucky tiny needs to eat!” Donar said seriously, placing Harry carefully at the table.

Spartacus brought over Harry’s bowl of barley porridge, and his ration of bread, and Duro handed him a cup of water.

“Gratitude.” He said softly, accepting the food and water given to him.

He ate slowly, his arms shaking from the prolonged movement of feeding himself. He didn’t eat any of his bread.

“You’re not eating enough.” Crixus bitched at him.

“It’s difficult to eat with the stitching in, so unless you’re offering to feed me, just let me eat what I can.” Harry complained.

“I will feed you.” Agron offered.

Harry laughed weakly. “I don’t want whatever you decided to feed me.” He jested.

“I was being serious.” Agron said, over the laughter of the others.

Harry shook his head. “It’s not needed.” He insisted. “I’m doing fine.”

Harry was supported carefully as they finished eating and then made their way to the bathing area. Harry was exhausted by now, and he allowed Spartacus to help him oil himself up and scrape him off. He only ever allowed Spartacus to do this, as he was one hundred percent sure that his friend was touching him just to help him, and not for any other reason.

“You’ve all been summoned to the villa.” Their Doctore told them, just as they were finishing off. “Hurry and get yourselves presentable.”

“Even me, Doctore?” Harry asked.

“All of you, Harian, just try to bear it as best you can.”

Harry grimaced. If he was asked to fight, even for a mere exhibition match, he’d likely die. Then Varro had been fighting fit and healthy, and he had died after an exhibition match too.

Spartacus dressed himself, and then helped Harry into his own subligaria and the wide belt that held it up.

“Let me walk behind you.” Spartacus insisted, even as they were all shackled by Roman guards they’d never seen before. “If you fall, I can support your weight.”

Harry nodded, already gritting his teeth with the weight of the heavy manacles dragging his arms down. If he wasn’t careful then he’d pull his stitches out and he’d be set straight back to the start of his healing.

Harry kept himself between Spartacus and Agron, and he moaned in pain with every step up to the villa.

“Hold still.” Spartacus told him, and a moment later his manacled arms held Harry’s waist and lifted him, carrying him awkwardly.

“Gratitude.” Harry said softly, as they reached the top of the stairs and Harry was placed back on his feet.

“We can’t have you collapsing on us.”

“I still might.” He complained, as they were shuffled forward into lines.

Agron was still on Harry’s left, and Spartacus on the right. They were right in the front row, and Harry cursed his luck that he hadn’t chosen Crixus to stand next to, as he had ended up in the row behind them. Harry would have happily been hidden behind the taller gladiators.

Harry heard Spartacus inhale deeply. He clearly knew the Roman man who came to walk down the line in front of them. The man didn’t look at anyone else, only Spartacus. They definitely had history between them, as the man stopped dead in front of the Thracian.

Harry warranted a small glance, either because of his height compared to the very tall Spartacus and even taller Agron beside him, or because of the thick, garish stitching that covered both arms, but it was a mere moment, and then the man’s gaze went right back to Spartacus, who was staring dead ahead.

“The champion of Capua.” The man said to Spartacus. “A sad day when an honoured city elevates a cur to such position.”

Harry’s eyes narrowed, and he inhaled deeply. Agron’s foot knocked gently against his own, and Harry regained control of himself. He reminded himself, that like preparations before the Vulcanalia, when he had been touched against his will, he was just a slave. Nothing more. He couldn’t say anything, or do anything.

“I see you taught the animal not to speak out of turn.”

The smug smirk on the man’s face made Harry’s fists clench. He then had to bite back a scream of pain as it aggravated his stitching. He gave Spartacus a love tap of magic, a warm, loving feeling to remind him that he was among friends, and brothers, and trying to remind him to keep his temper. Though he himself was failing at that because the herbs he’d taken to help his healing were messing with his mind.

“I would have demonstration of other tricks the Thracian has learnt.” The man said, as Spartacus remained silent, obviously not rising to the man’s bait as he had wanted.

The man turned away, and ordered the new guards, who Harry assumed were his own men, to unchain Spartacus.

Harry gave him a massive jolt of energy and a bit of magic to help protect him from most glancing blows, even as Spartacus was pulled out of the line and had his hands unchained.

“Which of my men would you have oppose him?” Their Dominus asked, indicating the line of chained men, while walking forward to sit on the stools provided, in front of the pool which Harry assumed was going to be the impromptu arena.

“None.” The smug man insisted. “Formation!” He called out, and his own guards stepped forward.

Upon seeing that, Harry’s anger rose, and he threw more magic into Spartacus.

“Spartacus wields practice swords. I fear he is at a disadvantage.” Their Dominus told the smug man beside him. Harry could see that he was clearly unhappy with the set up. Harry took the time he had to give more magic over, setting it to harden Spartacus’s exposed skin, as he’d done in his last arena battle, now that he knew it would work.

“I have given him a chance to prove his legend.”

The smug man called out a name, and a massive, muscular man stepped forward. Harry noticed immediately that he was blind in the left eye. Spartacus would have seen it too, they were all taught to look out for obvious injuries and weaknesses to use to their advantage. That blind left eye was a glaring target to a gladiator.

“How exciting.” The smug, blonde woman, Ilithyia, who had been staying in the villa for some time now, called out, and Harry wanted to wipe the smirk from her face too.

“Begin.” The smug man called out, and Harry didn’t send any more magic to Spartacus, just in case it distracted him.

A wooden sword against live steel was severely handicapped, in Harry’s opinion, but the red cloaks the Roman guards wore were a severe hindrance as well, as it flapped about and got in the way. Spartacus made his opponent look stupid, and Harry hid a smile. Spartacus was a trained gladiator, and the champion of Capua for a reason. One guard wouldn’t be enough to down him.

His heart sunk as he realised what was actually happening. Like with him in the arena, the smug man was going to set more and more opponents on Spartacus, until he found the number to kill him off in front of all of them.

He was right when two more guards were called forward to face off against Spartacus, but again he made them look stupid, like untrained boys. Harry gave his friend a jolt of magic, to reenergise him and hopefully keep him going until the end of this little set up, if it ever ended, as Harry knew what was coming next.

The remaining four men were called forward, and Harry gave over everything he had to Spartacus for this coming match. Spartacus was already quicker, because he was half naked and the guards were wearing heavy armour, but with four opponents, it was harder to keep track of all of them. Harry unfortunately knew that from experience.

Harry flinched and gasped as a slice ripped through the back of Spartacus’ shoulder, and he trembled where he stood as his friend yelled out in pain. Harry couldn’t risk dulling the pain of it, not yet, lest he distract Spartacus instead.

He took his chance though, when a heavy boot to the chest sent Spartacus flying back into the pool of water. Harry numbed all pain for his friend, and scoped out the wound. His magic from before had done its job, however, and the wound was relatively shallow. Harry gave even more energy to Spartacus, but the tremble in his muscles now became permanent. He didn’t have long before he collapsed.

Spartacus rose from the pool, as fit as when he first started fighting, and he dispatched the last two opponents easily, with the pommel of his wooden sword, and he finished the last off with his fists.

“Behold, the legend is proved.” Their Dominus said, standing up.

“Dominus.” Spartacus said, bowing his head.

Harry teetered on his feet, and Agron tried to steady him with his manacled hands. Harry missed a few minutes, but the tension was extraordinary in the room when he focused enough to listen back in.

Spartacus was on his knees, his head bowed. Harry’s stomach sunk as he believed that Spartacus had been sentenced to death.

He gave Spartacus a love tap, but it was too much for his exhausted body and he fell unconscious. Agron tried to catch him, but couldn’t with his manacled hands, and Harry smashed face first straight into the marble floor, causing a sorely needed distraction.

“What is happening?” Glaber demanded, looking at the passed out body.

“Harian has been injured in the arena, in the games against Pompeii, where he won the primus against five men.” Batiatus said quickly. “He was under the care of the medicus when you called for showing.”

“See them all back below, where they belong.” Glaber said shortly, before heading for the door.

Oenomaus hurried to Harian the moment the two men were out of the room, and he tried to settle the other men, even as Glaber’s men started pushing them back down to the ludus. One guard came and unlocked the manacles around Harian’s wrists, so that he was not dragged unconscious with them.

He checked Harian over as much as he could, before picking him up and hurrying him below, to the medicus. He didn’t seem to be injured any further, though his nose was bleeding from where he had hit it on the floor, but none of his stitches were pulled or bleeding.

“Doctore, how is tiny?!” Donar yelled out, even as he was shoved roughly into a cell. It wasn’t his own.

Oenomaus couldn’t answer, he had no answers, as he took Harian straight to the medicus, who started checking the boy over.

“What happened?”

“He just collapsed.” Oenomaus answered. “He was not asked for demonstration. He was stood in line with the other men.”

The medicus tutted. “Even that would have been too much.” He insisted. “Leave him with me.”

Oenomaus went back out onto the sands, to find the men had been pushed into the communal cells, too many in each one for them to sleep properly, and none of them were happy. Glaber’s guards had the keys, so he couldn’t even fix the mistake, but they were all more concerned for Harian, at least for the moment.

“He is to stay with the medicus for the night.” He said sternly, as they all started questioning him. “Try to get some sleep.”

Of course Spartacus and Crixus were in the same cell, with Agron too, who was separated from his brother Duro and already kicking off about it, which set Crixus off about mothering Germans, which in turn inflamed Agron over ‘fucking Gauls’. It would not be a quiet night, especially not with Harian stuck with the medicus. Harian who had the ability to calm all tensions, even those between Spartacus and Crixus, and Crixus and Agron.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ X

After the showing in the villa Glaber’s men took the place of their usual guards, only they were much heavier-handed, and had no fear, or respect, for the gladiators they had care of.

Spartacus watched as yet another of his brothers was singled out and received a beating for no reason other than he had stopped training to sneeze some dust out of his nose.

They were all suffering from the extended training, which started earlier, ended later, and they weren’t allowed to have any breaks, only their set meal times, which had been shortened from an hour, to just twenty minutes.

The beating on Tychos ended only when the man was unconscious, and they had to carry on their training, to ignore their unconscious brother on the sand, as if they hadn’t just seen what had happened to him.

It didn’t help that, to a man, they were all worried about Harian, who had been with the medicus since his collapse up in the villa, and hadn’t returned to them in two days. They had no word on him, or how he was faring, but there were rumours circling that he hadn’t woken up in that time and he was close to death.

Spartacus could scarcely believe such rumours, not of Harian, not with his abilities, but his continued absence gave worrying weight to the rumours.

All of them were antsy, tense, and anxious. They wanted to see Harian, they wanted to see him with their own eyes to make sure that he was recovering, but they were denied from having this simple wish.

Tychos was seen to the medicus’ rooms by the guards, and Spartacus knew that he would come back with more rumours to be spread, of Harian deeply unconscious, and unresponsive. His wounds not healing, and that the medicus complained that he was on the brink of death.

Spartacus would sooner check for himself, to see Harian with his own eyes, but he wasn’t allowed to do so, and he was angry, and worried. He knew that Harian had poured too much of his ability into him, when he had been fighting against Glaber’s men in the villa. Harian had done the same when he had been condemned to the pits, and he had collapsed on the sands then. He had not been so severely injured at that time, however, and he had been perfectly fine the next day, bounding around like the boy that he was.

“Spartacus, have you heard any word on Harian?” Agron asked him suddenly, taking a risk and coming to stand beside him, whispering quick and urgent.

“You know that I haven’t. We’ve all been denied access to him. I am no different. My being champion offers me no such privileges anymore. I am not even allowed to ask for audience with our Dominus, to break words of the guards’ abuses, nor about our forced separation from Harian.”

“Sophus is insisting that Harian is already dead, and they are hiding him in the medicus’ rooms to hide it from us!” Agron told him.

Spartacus’ heart missed a beat in his chest, then returned to beat at a furious pace. Sophus had been the gladiator beaten unconscious that morning, and he had spent some hours with the medicus. He would have been in the same room as Harian, perhaps even as close as the next bed, but still Spartacus didn’t want to believe that Harian was dead.

“That can’t be true!” Donar roared out.

“Donar!” Their Doctore came striding over, perhaps trying to deal with the issue before any more of them got beaten, but Glaber’s guards weren’t too far behind him. “What is the cause of this disturbance?”

“Is Harian dead?” Donar demanded. “They are saying that he is dead, and his body is being hidden in medicus’ rooms!”

“What does it matter if he is?” One of the guards sneered. “He’s a slave. He’s scum, like you! Back to training!”

Spartacus laid a hand on Donar’s arm, when it looked like the big German was going to launch himself at the guard’s neck.

“Peace, Donar.” Spartacus urged. “I’m sure that Harian is still alive.”

“If you can behave for several minutes, I will go and check on him.” Doctore told them.

That reassured them a little, and they nodded their agreement to behaving, but it wasn’t always their fault, as the guards beat them for no reason. Doctore had been reluctant to leave them for that reason, and that was why they had had no proper news on their tiny brother.

They watched as their Doctore hurried off, and they turned back to their training. They didn’t give the guards any reason to attack them, then they didn’t need a reason, but they had seemingly gotten their fill of beating them by attacking Tychos.

“Doctore, how fares tiny?” Donar called out, the moment the man was back on the sands.

Spartacus turned to see his grim face. It wasn’t good news, and his heart clenched this time, and he felt pained and saddened. Had Harian died without any of his friends around him?

“Harian is alive.” He said, but there was a look on his face that Spartacus didn’t like. Was he being forced to lie by Glaber’s men?

Several men let out collective breaths, and there was a nervous spattering of laughs. Spartacus didn’t join them, as he looked closely at his Doctore. He looked unsettled, and unhappy. Spartacus knew how much Oenomaus loved Harian, they all knew it, was he so grim faced because Harian was dead?

Spartacus looked up at the sky, at the clear blue, and the burning hot sun. He hoped desperately that Harian hadn’t died. Not because of him.

They were forced back to training, many of them now a mite happier that they had heard that Harian was alive, but Spartacus shared a sad look with Agron. Neither of them believed Doctore’s words, and now they were even more worried than they’d been before.

“Take you meals!” The guards yelled out, and they were shoved into two lines, sitting back to back, on the sand.

The guards were the ones who handed them their bowls and bread, and then a cup of water. They weren’t allowed to stand up, they had to ask for permission to move, and the guards watched over them with a critical eye, and a hand on the pommels of their swords.

Tychos was escorted back to them and he looked tired and he was full of bruises.

“How is Harian?” Donar demanded.

“He is dead, I would swear it.” Tychos answered tiredly.

Spartacus’ heart missed yet another beat, and he tried to calm himself.

“Doctore says that he is alive.” He pointed out, trying to calm the storm that was coming.

Tychos shook his head. “He does not wake, he does not move. He has surpassed pale, he now has a sickly grey colour to his skin. Medicus has put him on his belly. Why would he do such a thing? I was lying in bed and watching our tiny brother…he does not breathe. Lying him on his stomach hides that his chest does not move.”

There was immediate carnage, as men started shouting and screaming, leaping to their feet, and throwing their bowls to the sand.

Doctore was there, trying to calm everyone, but it was Glaber’s guards that made everything worse, by wading into the brawl and hitting them all with the pommel of their swords, pulling at them, and dragging them off.

They were all grappled back into the ludus, and to the cells, and they were thrown into them one by one at sword point. Spartacus was glad that he got the cell where Donar was thrown, so that he might calm the man, and try to figure out what the truth was. Was Harian truly dead? He hoped not.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ X

“Doctore, what is the issue?” Quintus demanded, as he received a message of the brawl, and he headed straight down into the ludus to get answers.

“The men have heard rumours that Harian is dead, Dominus. They believe that he is being kept away from them, so they do not learn of his condition.”

“Is he dead?” He asked in alarm.

The young boy had become one of his top rated gladiators, as surprising as that was to believe to look at him. Harian had won fights that even legendary gladiators would have failed to win. His last fight, against the gladiators of Pompeii, had been a spectacle to behold. Harian had taken on five gladiators, one of them Pericles, the Titan of Pompeii, by himself, and he had emerged the surprising victor.

True, he had believed that the boy had finally lost after his final stand against Pericles, but a surge of excitement went through him as he recalled the final moments of the primus match. Harian had won. He might have been severely injured, but he had won, and with that win, he had launched the prestige of this house into the realm of the gods.

He was exceptionally proud of the young boy, and there were more fights that he could put Harian in. There was talk of a primus match with him and Spartacus fighting together, against ten men, but that could only happen if Harian was alive.

“He is alive, Dominus.”

“Thank the gods.” Quintus said. “I would see him.”

They went straight to the medicus’ rooms, and to Harian, laying on his stomach and looking too much like a corpse.

The medicus jumped when they appeared, and he hurried over to Harian’s side.

“How is he?” Quintus demanded.

“He is alive, but very weak, Dominus.” The medicus said nervously. “I am doing all I can, but he has been unconscious now for two days.”

“He hasn’t woken at all?”

“He woke briefly a few hours after his initial collapse, Dominus, then again a few hours later, he could not sleep with the pain of his injuries, but he needed more rest if he was ever to recover. I gave him herbs to help him sleep, and he hasn’t woken up since.”

“Did you give him too much of the herbs?” Quintus demanded angrily, remembering Harian having to fight while drugged too heavily with herbs…if the medicus had made the same mistake with such a valuable gladiator…

“No, Dominus!” The medicus insisted, his voice panicked as he tried to assure the man who held his life in his hands that he hadn’t killed the boy. “He has had a half dose, more suitable for his size. He is just still very injured, and he needs to rest.”

“How have the men found out about his condition, and why do they think him dead?”

“The men who come to the medicus’ rooms see him, and believe him to be dead, which spreads rumours that cause them anger.” Doctore told him.

Quintus threw both hands through his thinning hair and cursed. He looked at the sleeping boy, as still and as grey as a corpse, and he could easily understand why the men thought him to be already dead.

“They need to be allowed to see him when he is awake.” He said, seeing no other way around it. “When he finally awakes, allow Spartacus and Crixus to see him, and they can spread the news that he is alive and recovering.”

Doctore nodded his head, and Quintus felt a little calmer. Glaber’s men had locked the gladiators in their cells, and refused to let them out until the next morning. He couldn’t refuse them, he couldn’t even order them around in his own home, in _his_ ludus. It angered him, and the disrespect and the humiliation made him sick, but he had to endure it for now.

He went back up to the villa and tried to calm himself down. It wouldn’t be for long. They would use Ilithyia as a convenient mouthpiece, using her murder of Licinia as leverage to get her and her husband to do his bidding. He was the one calling the shots, even if he did have to put up with Glaber’s men for the time being.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ X

Harry woke up feeling sick and exhausted still. He moaned and tried to move, but his entire body felt heavy. His face was very sore.

“Lay still.”

He forced his eyes open, and a blurry man came into view. He was back with the medicus then.

“You collapsed up in the villa.” The man told him. “You are exhausted, and need more rest. Drink this, it’ll send you back to sleep.”

Harry drank it, not that he had much choice as it was forced down his throat regardless, and he once again fell into unconsciousness.

When he next woke, he was in the middle of a physical exam. His arm was being pulled out, and that was likely what had woken him up.

“Will I live?” He asked. He’d meant it as a joke, but it fell flat as his voice was nothing more than a harsh, pained croak.

The medicus snapped his gaze to him, and then back to the stitching he was examining, as he bent Harry’s arm this way and that, watching how the muscle acted with the stitching. Harry grimaced through the pain.

“You’ll live, but not much longer if you keep being exhausted to point of collapse.”

Harry nodded slowly, and he allowed the medicus to pull at him, while he set his magic to diagnosing himself. He didn’t have a lot of magic stored up, which told him he hadn’t been asleep for very long, and that it was likely still night time of the same day he had collapsed.

He gave up diagnosing himself, as he didn’t really have the magic for it, and he allowed himself to fall back into unconsciousness.

His dreams were strange. He would later blame the herbs given to him, one of which clearly held a hallucinogenic property to it. He dreamed of Sirius. He dreamed of Barca and Pietros. He dreamed of the faceless Auctus and Cyprian. He didn’t remember what these dreams entailed, and when he woke with a jolt, his heart racing in his chest, and with an erection, the dreams evaporated like smoke between his fingers.

Harry was forced up when he woke this time, to find that three days had passed with him ‘on the brink of death’. Harry assumed that this meant he’d been unconscious for three days without waking up and he had panicked everyone while his magic recovered. It was now full to bursting, making his skin tingle. It hadn’t been full like this for a while, and Harry relished the feeling.

He had been prodded out onto the training sands, to find his brothers sat in two lines, under the baking hot sun, eating their midday meal. There were more guards surrounding them, the same men from before, when Spartacus had been forced to endure that exhibition match against Roman soldiers.

“Tiny! You yet grace us with your presence.”

Of course Donar would have spotted him first, and at his call all of his brothers swung around to look for him, which alarmed their new guards, who nervously palmed the pommels to their swords. Harry didn’t know what was happening, or why he’d been forced out of the medicus’ rooms when he’d been told before that he might die if he was exhausted again. Yet that is exactly what would happen if he was forced around without being given the time he needed to heal. He certainly didn’t feel ready for any sort of training.

“Not sure why.” He complained, his voice thin and weak still. “Don’t think I’m up to much. I only woke up an hour ago.”

He stumbled on his way to sit himself in a free spot next to Spartacus, and he grimaced as the stumble jolted something sore. His Doctore was there then, supporting him, and helping him.

“The guards don’t like any messing.” The man told him firmly, clearly warning him. “They didn’t like you being separated away from the others, and left orders for you to be brought back onto training sands when you awoke, against Dominus’ orders.”

“Won’t be awake for long if I’m forced to fight, Doctore.” Harry said softly.

“You will be allowed to sit by my feet. I know such a thing is not usually warranted, but these are Glaber’s men, who has granted his patronage to Dominus. We must endure them for now.”

Harry nodded, as he was sat down next to Spartacus, who threw an arm around him and tugged him in tight. Agron and Duro were sat in the row with their backs to Spartacus and Harry, but turned to speak to them.

“You should not be out here.” Agron sighed. “You still look like shit.”

“I heard the fuckers demanding that medicus release him when he next awakened.” Duro told his brother.

“Keep voices down.” Spartacus chided softly, making a play at eating a morsel of bread. “Harian, we have something of great import to tell you.”

“A moment.” Harry said, feeling the significance of whatever it was in the sudden tension of the three men.

Doctore approached not two minutes later, to hand Harry a bowl of barley porridge, a ration of bread, and a cup of water.

“Thank you, Doctore.” Harry croaked.

“Manage what you can.” The man said to him. “Remember that the more you eat, the faster you recover. If ever you needed to recover quickly, it is now.”

Harry nodded and took a spoonful of porridge just to stop the man from fretting.

Doctore moved back to the edges of the training square, and under the watchful gazes of the Glaber’s men, the gladiators went back to eating.

“What do you need to say?” Harry asked, trying to prod his sluggish brain into thinking. It wasn’t cooperating.

“We are not long for this ludus. We seek escape.” Spartacus told him, under his breath, as he made a play of adjusting his bowl on his knee and reaching for his cup of water.

“How far have you gotten to planning?” Harry asked, before taking a sip of water himself.

“We have all but the Gauls.” Agron insisted. “They refuse until Crixus agrees, and he won’t.”

“Crixus is the only man who refuses to speak of freedom in any form. He wouldn’t want it. The Gauls still see him as the true champion of Capua, and of this ludus, so they wouldn’t do anything without him.” Harry said, pondering the matter at hand.

“You are with us?” Duro asked.

“I will always fight for freedom.” Harry replied, scooping up a bit of porridge with his bread. He felt sick more than hungry, but Doctore was right that eating led to healing. “How are you planning on it? It will not be easy, especially not now with added guards.”

“There is to be an exhibition match in two days.” Spartacus told him. “Me against Crixus. It is to be a showing to a select few of the nobility. Sine missione.”

Harry swallowed hard, and he needed to grab his cup for a drink of water.

“To the death then. You will try to kill Crixus to bring over the other Gauls.”

“If I cannot talk him around, I must.” Spartacus said firmly, resolving himself, but there was a beseeching look to his gaze, pleading with him to understand.

“I will speak to him.” Harry said sternly. “Mad fuck that he is, he will listen to me if I have to make him. If you are serious about escape, I want it. I want Barca and Pietros, and I will chose them over any more arena battles without any hesitancy. Leave Crixus to me.”

“I need your help too, Harian. Are you up for it?” Spartacus asked him worriedly.

“I look worse than I feel. I might not be up for fighting, but my ability has had more than enough time to build back up. It’s so full I feel fit to burst.”

“That won’t actually happen, will it?” Duro asked in alarm.

Harry laughed softly. “No. It might try to sneak out of my control. It usually does, but I won’t actually burst. I’ll need to use some of it soon.”

“You can use it to keep your feet when stupid fucks try to make you fight.” Agron suggested.

Harry shook his head. “It won’t work that way. My body is too exhausted. I cannot fight. Not yet.”

“How long?” Spartacus asked him seriously.

“A day, maybe the full two you need of me.” Harry looked at the new guards, staring at them all. “That is if I am left alone to recover, and I use my ability to heal as much as I possibly can.”

“We will aid in this. Heal yourself, Harian. We will have need of you when the time comes.”

Harry nodded, and with barely a twitch, he started healing all of his wounds. “I will need a knife.” He said. “To take out the stitching quickly, lest my skin grow over it as I force healing.”

“You can heal that quickly?” Duro asked, impressed.

“I can heal instantly if it is needed…and I have the time I need to do so. Instantly fatal wounds, I would have no opportunity to heal. But these flesh wounds, yes. I can heal them instantly if needed. I brought Crixus back from the brink of death once using my ability. If I have the time I need, I can heal all wounds.”

“You are truly of the gods.” Agron told him.

Harry scoffed immediately, and stuffed a chunk of bread into his mouth.

“You are, how else do you have such ability if not gifted by the gods?”

“The ability is passed down parent to child, like hair and eye colour. Like all skills it is taught and honed by elders, who were taught by their elders. Much like hunting, or being a gladiator. I had no skill when I first came to this ludus. I had never had cause to touch the sword or shield before I came here. My elders taught me, and I learned. My ability is the same, it needed to be trained.”

“Mealtime is over!” One guard snapped. “Get up. Back to training.”

“Well, they’re not friendly.” Harry snorted.

“Take caution, Harian. They have started provoking us, attacking us for imagined slights, and beating on us just because they wish to. Doctore has had his power and position removed by addition of guards, he cannot help, though we ask him for everything out of respect. Be careful.” Spartacus warned.

Harry nodded and limped slowly over to his Doctore, sitting at his feet, and he set his magic to healing what it could. He tried to pick the stitches with magic, but that was harder, and more dangerous to do, as it would be visible to anyone who looked at him…and these new guards were looking at him too.

He watched his brothers’ train. He didn’t even need to fake how tired he felt. He just wanted to sleep some more. He lay down on the soft, warm sand and tried to ignore everyone as he focused on himself.

“He should be training!” One guard complained to Doctore.

“He has been injured, and has not yet had the time to recover.” Doctore replied immediately, and sternly. “He cannot train with his stitching still in place, it will tear.”

“He is a gladiator, is he not?” The guard said, sneering down at Harry. “As hard as it is to believe while looking upon him.”

“A dead gladiator is worth nothing.” Doctore answered.

The guard snorted and moved off. Harry used a cutting jinx to sever the stitches in his skin. He curled up into a ball where he lay, feigning sleep, as his fingers wormed and carefully worked the threads from out of his healing skin.

He would need to be at full strength sooner than was natural. He could see it. The three weeks he’d been told it would take, the three weeks he had wanted as a break for a hard battle fought, were to be denied to him. Especially with the addition of these fucking guards.

No one else came to complain about Harry sleeping on the sands while his brothers fought tirelessly. Harry witnessed first-hand the provoking of the guards, as they selected one of his brothers, Lydon, as a target and just started hitting and kicking him, while he was unable to fight back for fear of death. It was disgusting, and heavy-handed. All Harry could do was reach out with his magic and take the pain from his brother. Lydon wouldn’t know why he was suddenly absent pain, but Harry didn’t care. He couldn’t sit by idly while his brother was kicked like a dog, beat upon for no reason, while he could do something, even a small something, to help him.

The last meal of the day was called two hours beyond the usual time, when the sun had already set and visibility was compromised in the training square, and his brothers were beyond exhausted and about ready to drop. Harry limped over to Crixus, and wormed his way in beside him and Ortius.

“Your wounds have vanished.” Ortius remarked, looking upon him with shock.

“I am needed at full strength.” Harry replied with a smile.

“You agree with mad plot then?” Crixus demanded in a whisper.

“Did you ever doubt me, Crixus? How else would I ever get to see my beloved Barca and Pietros again? I will not survive many more years in the arena. Truthfully I do not believe any of us will survive the next week if heavy-handed cunts continue.”

The two men to either side of him snorted, so too did Lydon and Mannus sat behind them.

“You are not at full strength.” Crixus told him.

“I have all the strength I need. I told you I could have taken a brothel by myself. I could not have taken the ludus by myself, but with aid from beloved brothers…the opportunity is set, Crixus. It will happen with you, or regardless of you, but it will happen all the same and there is no stopping it.”

“If anyone were to hear of this mad plot…” Crixus hissed.

“It’ll still happen in that case, just a little earlier than planned.”

“Spartacus has corrupted you.”

“No. I have always longed to have my freedom back. I was never going to say no when opportunity presents itself.”

“You can truly see us from this place?” Ortius asked in a whisper. “I have heard of the things said of you, the rumours in the dark, that you are a demon, that you are cursed. Gnaeus spoke of them, before his mad attempt to murder you. He said Ashur told him the truth, and now Ashur is dead as well, of some Assyrian disease.”

“It was no disease.” Harry said. “Ashur moved against me. He tried to get Gnaeus to do his dirty work for him, as he had neither the hands, nor the stomach for it. Gnaeus attacked me first, and he paid for it with his life. It was Ashur who was the brains behind the attack, and I made sure he suffered for it.”

“So Gnaeus spoke truly? You are some demon of Hades.”

Harry giggled softly, to avoid bringing down the wrath of the new guards.

“No. That was the lie Ashur told him to get Gnaeus to do his dirty work. I am no demon, I am just a boy from Britannia, trained in the ability of the druids.”

Harry watched Ortius swallow nervously. He saw from the corner of his eye as Mannus and Lydon turned to stare at him. All over the Roman Republic, men had heard horrific tales of the druids, and the power they held.

“You hold this power?” Mannus hissed at him urgently.

Harry nodded, and took a mouthful of bread.

“That is how you survive in the arena. That is how your wounds are gone!” Ortius said in shock.

Harry nodded again, chewing and swallowing, before reaching out to his cup to take a drink of water.

“When those fucking guards were beating me, I felt a warmth, and all pain was suddenly gone. Was that you?” Lydon asked, proving that he wasn’t stupid, no matter how often it was claimed.

Harry nodded yet again. “I would not have allowed it to continue, had I been stronger.”

“You can kill them. As you killed Ashur.”

“Truthfully Ashur died as a result of being thrown from the cliff by medicus, not by me. But I could have killed him, with a bit more pressure and power.”

“You can kill these guards? All of them?” Mannus asked.

“Not all of them. But enough to even the odds into our favour if we attempt escape. I cannot do it all on my own, I can kill a few, but more importantly, I can open the gates.”

“There are those of us who do not want this!” Crixus told him angrily.

“There are more who do. You can come with us, Crixus, or we will sweep over you. You fight to the death in two days. That is when attempt will take place, with or without you. With or without Spartacus. It doesn’t matter which one of you wins or loses, this is happening regardless of outcome! I want to be free. I want Barca and Pietros.”

Crixus was breathing heavily, his gaze sweeping around the lines of gladiators. Spartacus was huddled with Agron and Duro, Hamilcar leaning in to listen too.

“There are enough of us to break free with or without you, Crixus. I will take the bulk of the escape onto my shoulders. I can kill or incapacitate a large portion of the guards, and open all of the gates. Please, do not turn on your brothers.”

“You have turned on me!” He hissed.

Harry shook his head. “Never.” Harry said, giving Crixus a wash of love and warmth. “If you do not wish to take part, I will still shield you. I will not kill you. But I want this more than anything, even if it leads to my death, I would die a free man, and not as a Roman slave.”

“I will stand with you.” Ortius insisted.

“As will I.” Mannus added.

“It would be better to die a free man, than as a gladiator.” Lydon mused.

Harry smiled at them, and gave them a true taste of his ability as he pushed love and warmth into them for only the briefest of moments.

“You’re all mad fucks.” Crixus complained. He sighed and his shoulders slumped. “Must be that I am too. I will join you, but if anything happens to Naevia…”

“Mira knows of the plot, she will see all house slaves to safety.” Harry insisted. “Spartacus means to storm the villa, via the gate.” Harry said, turning to look at it with the three other men. “He will secure the house, going straight for Batiatus, while we secure the ludus, and kill all the guards. I can open the gates, and I will do so while you and he fight. Then we can join Spartacus in ridding the villa of pretentious Roman shits who do not even see us as men.”

“You will be vital to his plan. What would he do if you had not been on side?” Crixus asked.

“Mira was to open the gate, if I had refused, or been unable to do so.” Harry said.

“You must be protected until the spectacle.” Crixus grunted. “Make sure that you stay safe, Harian.”

Harry slipped himself closer to Crixus and snuggled in. “When I have so many big brothers to care for me, I feel well protected.”

Crixus scoffed and grumbled, but he held Harry tight with a largely muscled arm.

“You are still half a boy.” He complained.

“Half a boy, or all boy, I still have this ability. It grows more powerful as I age, as I grow, but I could have still done this if I had been twelve, and not almost fifteen.”

“Take care of yourself.”

“I will. My stitching is out, my wounds will be healed by the morning, and then I will be fit and strong again. Ready for Spartacus’ plot.”

Crixus sighed. “Stay with Spartacus tonight. Tell him that I will join him, and break words with the other Gauls to the same end. We would see you safe, Harian.”

“You have no fear of anything happening to me.”

“I swore to Barca that I would look after you, and protect you in his place.” Crixus told him, which was news to Harry, and he cocked his head.

“You did?”

“I did. I swore to him, and I will hold my honour by that vow. I will see you back to Barca’s arms, even by way of a mad fucking plot.”

Harry smiled and snuggled back into Crixus and set an exchange up, sending in his magic, receiving it back as little wordless letters, and he healed sore spots and unseen injuries.

“Stop that, and save your ability for yourself.” Crixus told him.

Harry shook his head. “No. It’s too full, and my body is too tired. I need to get rid of it somehow. This is helping me.”

Crixus went back to his food, and allowed Harry to feed his body with his ability, healing him in unseen ways, even as the boy ate his own food.

He would never have believed any man capable of such amazing feats as what Harian was able to do. He felt his body revitalising itself, reenergising itself, and he had a new burst of energy. With Harian on their side, and able to do these things, it seemed impossible that they would lose. Harian needed to be protected at all costs, not just because of his vow to Barca, but because he was vital to their survival if mad plot actually worked.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ X

Harry didn’t relish being locked into a cell with Donar, Rhaskos, Crixus, Mannus, Tychos, and Litaviccus. It was too full with seven of them, they could barely lie down, and certainly not comfortably, and Harry had no space at all.

“Oh, fuck this!” Harry said, moving from where he was jammed into the corner, with absolutely no space to move to even to turn around and half of his body pressed against the bars of the cell, and he climbed over Litaviccus and moved to spread himself out over Donar, who chuckled and held Harry belly to belly.

Harry was teased and called a child, but he really didn’t care. There was no way he could sleep while squashed up against the bars as he had been.

“You’re all just jealous because I now have the biggest, softest bed in the ludus!” He called back, resting his head on Donar’s chest, listening to his heartbeat.

“Leave errant boy to sleep.” Crixus called out, and all his Gauls immediately fell silent. “He needs to rest and recover. He should still be with the medicus.”

Harry fell asleep, warm and comforted with Donar. He was able to sleep easier, because he knew Donar saw him as a son, and not as a lover, or a mere fuck toy. It helped that Harry didn’t see Donar as any sort of replacement to Pietros or Barca. Their relationship was of friends, brothers, and completely platonic.

He awoke warm and cosy, but with the yelling of the guards in his ear. He squirmed in the arms that held him tight. He had migrated during his sleep, and he was sandwiched tight between Donar and Crixus and he fought to get himself sat upright. He was almost lost in larger and more muscular limbs.

They were dragged out of the cells and pushed out onto the sands to grab their first meal, and Harry forced his way through the guards, which was made easier due to his slight size, to sit beside Spartacus with his cup, bowl, and ration of bread.

“Did you break words with Crixus?” Agron asked him immediately, slipping into the row behind them.

“I did.” Harry said, settling his food in his lap.

“Well? What did he say? Does he stand with us? Did you convince him?”

“He stands with us, after a bit of convincing.” Harry replied. Agron couldn’t control his triumphant look.

“You talked him around?” Spartacus asked, looking relieved.

Harry nodded. “He and his Gauls will stand with us. Your match to the death will only end in the deaths of Roman shits.”

“He cares for you more than he says he does.” Agron insisted. “He must do.”

“He does.” Harry nodded. “He’s just not overly fond of admitting to it. I did save his life, after all.”

“With Crixus and the Gauls on side, we will win this coming fight.” Spartacus insisted.

“I will do all that is asked of me.” Harry said seriously.

“You will be protected as much as possible. You are still only fourteen.” Spartacus told him.

“A little late to do that now, Father.” Harry teased. “I have already been set free in the arena. My innocence is long gone thanks to slavery.”

“I would not have it do more damage. Open the gates, but see yourself safe. Let me take on Batiatus and the Roman shits in the villa.”

“I will take care of those in the ludus.” Agron swore. “I will see sweet, beautiful boy kept safe.”

Harry snorted, and almost choked on his porridge. He needed to drink to clear his throat.

“You have not dared call me that since Barca left.”

“I have thought it, and felt it.”

Duro pulled a pained expression and turned away. Harry sighed, and smiled.

“Barca’s absence does not make my heart forget its love. You are putting your hopes on the wrong person, Agron. Turn from me, and look elsewhere to sate your cock. I have no interest.”

“You have been too sad since Barca left. He would understand your needs.”

Harry doubted that very much, but he said nothing of the topic, as he knew Barca would rather beat Agron to death with his bare hands than allow Harry to lay with him, needs or not.

“My needs are dampened with the absence of those I love. I have not felt any sort of stirring since the night before the games against Pompeii, when I last lay with them. There will be more boys, Agron. Do not fear that I will be the only one you’ll meet.”

“He speaks truly.” Spartacus cut in. “There will be others. Until then, see him as a brother, and not as a lover.”

Agron looked from Spartacus, and back to Harry. He stared a moment longer, then sighed, and nodded.

“I fear there will never be another such beautiful boy, but I see when my attentions are not wanted.”

Harry laughed softly. “Beauty is a concept. There will be others much more beautiful than me, and I pray you pursue them.”

“Barca is the luckiest fucker in the world, and I doubt he knows it.”

“He knows.” Harry said softly, thinking back on how much Barca had suffered, and how much he had lost. The close calls he’d had, and how he had almost lost everything because he’d trusted Ashur, of all people. Barca knew he was a lucky man. Harry couldn’t wait to see him again, and by the looks of things, it wouldn’t be all that long until he could sleep in his lovers’ arms again.

“One more day.” Spartacus said, looking out over the sands.

“One more day.” Harry echoed, his thoughts firmly on Barca and Pietros.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ X

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Oh, it’s getting closer to the end, lovelies. There is just one more chapter left for this fic now, and while it’s not very long, it is still action packed, as expected for the finale.
> 
> The sequel, Servus ad Bellum, will be posted as soon as I have finished it, I’ll keep you all posted on its progress via my Facebook page.
> 
> StarLight Massacre. X


	14. Libertas

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last Time
> 
> Harry laughed softly. “Beauty is a concept. There will be others much more beautiful than me, and I pray you pursue them.”
> 
> “Barca is the luckiest fucker in the world, and I doubt he knows it.”
> 
> “He knows.” Harry said softly, thinking back on how much Barca had suffered, and how much he had lost. The close calls he’d had, and how he had almost lost everything because he’d trusted Ashur, of all people. Barca knew he was a lucky man. Harry couldn’t wait to see him again, and by the looks of things, it wouldn’t be all that long until he could sleep in his lovers’ arms again.
> 
> “One more day.” Spartacus said, looking out over the sands.
> 
> “One more day.” Harry echoed, his thoughts firmly on Barca and Pietros.

Chapter Fourteen – Libertas

There was a tension in the ludus on the day of the exhibition match. The villa was in complete turmoil, as the preparations for the party were seen to, as the house slaves rushed around on quickened feet like sedulous mice, cleaning everything, scrubbing the very stones, spreading around fresh flowers in every alcove, laying tables and ladening them down with food, so no one really noticed that the gladiators down below were strained, and much too tense.

Harry had been forced to train, but he was in much better nick than he’d been the day before, so even without his brothers going easy on him, he was doing okay. His brothers were also keeping him well away from the guards, just in case. Harry was training in the dead centre of the training sands, surrounded on all sides by fighting pairs, though Harry knew that if Glaber’s men had a mind to come after him, then they could easily do so. Harry didn’t want to think what would happen if they did just that, because both Spartacus and Agron had sworn violence if they started on him like some of the other men, and Donar certainly wouldn’t stand by and just watch as Harry was beaten. Harry himself definitely wouldn’t have stood idly by and allowed them to just beat him like a feral dog either.

Thankfully it seemed they were being put to good use, as the house slaves spread around flowers and set up torches around the training square ready for the evening match, and the guards were far too busy overseeing everything to pester the gladiators overly much.

“Harian, how are you faring?” Duro asked him, stopping all movement and pulling back his swing, watching in concern as Harry separated off from their mock battle and moved back a few steps.

“I just need to take a breath.” Harry insisted, doing just that.

He and Duro had been partnered together, but so much activity was still too much for him, and he needed to take it easy, because he would need all of his energy, and magic, for later that night.

“Do you need water?” Duro asked.

Harry shook his head. “Gratitude, but no. Let me have a moment.”

One of the guards turned to survey the sands, and Harry saw him as he noticed that Harry and Duro weren’t training. Before he could say anything, or storm over and start beating on either or both of them, Harry re-gripped his sword and swung at Duro, who blocked and swung at him.

Denied his chance to beat on anyone, and alleviate the drudgery of watching house slaves spread around bunches of flowers, the guard visibly sighed and slumped.

Harry hoped that that one was killed slowly. He couldn’t imagine beating another person just because he was bored, or just because he could.

A split second distraction due to his thoughts, and one of Duro’s practice swings hit Harry straight in the stomach. Harry screeched loudly and hit the sand holding himself around the middle.

“You piece of shit German!” Crixus raged, running at Duro, but being intersected by Agron, and the two of them started beating on each other.

“Crixus! Agron!” Their Doctore roared, hurrying over to them, but Glaber’s men got there first, and Harry winced as he heard them beating on his friends.

The two of them were hauled off inside the ludus, and Harry bit his lip, watching, even as he massaged his ribs.

“Harian, are you well?” Spartacus asked him.

Harry nodded. “I’m fine.” He insisted, even as his voice came out higher than it should have.

“Apologies, Harian. I swung too hard.” Duro told him, looking devastated.

“I should have seen it coming. It would have been easily blocked.” Harry admitted. “I was distracted.”

“Back to training, scum!” One guard roared out.

Harry growled, but Spartacus lifted him to his feet and clapped him on the back.

“Calm your heart for now.” His friend cautioned. “Soon, but not yet.”

Harry nodded and he took his wooden sword from Duro and fell back into position.

“Be careful with him, Duro.” Doctore told the German sternly. “Remember that Harian should still be with the medicus, and not out on the sands.”

Duro nodded, and set himself back to pretending that he was training with Harian, when in truth he was trying to remind himself that he couldn’t properly swing at the young boy.

As the day wore on, Harry was now visibly struggling, and there was a fine tremble in all of his limbs. He had gone pale, and he was sweating absent the cause for it. The midday meal was a welcome distraction, as Crixus and Agron were hauled back out onto the sands.

“Harian, how do you fare?” Crixus asked, muscling his way in beside him.

Harry just shook his head. He wasn’t eating.

“This can’t continue.” Harry whispered to Crixus on one side of him, and Spartacus on the other. “I will be no help to anyone if I collapse before tonight. I cannot train any longer.”

“Did that shit’s sword hurt overly much?” Crixus asked, glaring at Duro.

“Crixus, it’s not Duro’s fault that I was forced to the sands. Doctore is right, I should still be with the medicus, not out here. I’ve forced my healing, which is painful itself. Bodies aren’t meant to instantly heal, that’s why I had to take it slowly when you were injured by Theokoles. My muscles aren’t working right, I can’t train properly, and one of Duro’s practice swings was able to find purchase. That isn’t Duro’s fault.”

“The fault lies with Glaber, and his men.” Spartacus agreed. “Any man can see that you are not fit for training.”

“They don’t believe I should be a gladiator. They seek to punish me for vexing their tiny minds, when they look at me and see a little boy, and not the gladiator I am claimed to be.”

“Your opponents always underestimate you.” Spartacus agreed.

“The only one who did not was Pericles. He saw the danger in me, and said as such in the arena. He almost killed me, where I killed all four of his brothers with ease, because they saw me as a boy, and not a threat. If he had not grown arrogant at the end…if he had not gone for a showy ending to the primus, I might not be here.”

“And mad plot would have even less of a chance for success.” Crixus grunted.

“It is set. Will you still play your part?” Spartacus asked.

“For Harian. I will.” Crixus agreed.

Harry smiled softly and snuggled into him.

“Eat, Harian. You need your strength.”

Harry shook his head. “I fear I might vomit if I eat anything.”

“Such a thing might aid you.” Donar spoke up from behind them. “If you are vomiting onto sands, guards will have to let you rest.”

Harry turned to look at his friend, then looked back at his bowl. He sighed and started eating. The first swallow made him feel queasy, and he didn’t relish when the barley porridge would be swept back up his throat, but Donar was right, he couldn’t possibly be expected to train while puking up his guts, so he ate, quickly. He stuffed as much of the porridge and bread into his mouth as he could, trying to hold off his roiling stomach until it was time to get back to training.

“I’ll be right back.” Spartacus told them, then turned to their Doctore. “Doctore! Water?”

It was a sad thing for all of them to watch as their Doctore had to turn to the guards to seek permission before he could agree to their request. Spartacus, who had emptied his remaining water into Harry’s cup, stood and went to the amphorae in the corner to refill his cup. Harry rolled his eyes as he saw that Varro’s wife, Aurelia, was fixing more flowers over there.

He understood Spartacus’ need to see and speak to her, as he had made a dying vow to Varro to protect his wife and son, Janus. Aurelia however did not care for such things, and Harry had learnt that she had sold herself into slavery to Batiatus to carry on paying Varro’s debt, instead of allowing Spartacus to pay them off with his winnings from the arena.

He admired her honour and dutifulness, but he still labelled her as stupid. Slavery was no such simple thing, and now she was away from her young son, when she might have been with him, raising him and loving him, instead of being a slave to Batiatus. She blamed Spartacus for killing Varro, and rejected his help, when the blame should be on the little shit, Numerius, who had been the one to call for Varro’s death in a mere exhibition match.

Aurelia was threatening to undo all of Harry’s hard work in forcing Spartacus to see that he wasn’t to blame for what had happened to Varro. She was laying all the guilt and blame for it at Spartacus’ feet, when Numerius had killed Varro, and her pride had seen her to slavery and away from her son.

Aurelia stormed off with her basket of flowers, and Spartacus came back angry and worried.

“Crixus, where was your food from?” Spartacus asked urgently.

“A guard handed it to me, as always.” Crixus grunted.

“They have corrupted your food, to ensure you fall in exhibition match. Aurelia heard Batiatus and Lucretia arguing over which of us should be poisoned, but Batiatus overruled Lucretia because I make the better political figurehead.”

“Fuck.” Harry cursed, and turned to Crixus and laid a hand on him. He immediately scouted out the poison in Crixus’ body, finding all traces of it, and he started to burn it off.

“Can you fix this?” Crixus asked him.

“Yes, I wish I had more time though.”

“You can truly rid a body of poison?”

Harry nodded. “Of course. It’s not so difficult, though you will feel hot and feverish afterwards, I have to raise your temperature to burn it off.”

“Do what you need to to see poison out of my body.” Crixus told him through pain gritted teeth. “Fucking poison. They dishonour me.”

“Aurelia accused me of doing the same to Varro, of weakening him with poison to kill him in exhibition.” Spartacus added.

“That was not your fault.” Harry put in harshly, even as he swept the poison from Crixus’ body. “She was not there and doesn’t know what happened. You were in an exhibition match, no one was meant to die. That little cunt Numerius killed Varro. Not you.”

“Harian speaks truly. You know he does.” Crixus agreed. “We saw what happened, your brothers know that choice was taken from your hands.”

Of course Crixus had stopped eating the remainder of his food, but Harry pushed over his own bowl, even as he sought out all traces of the poison, trying to burn it off before they were forced back onto the sands.

Crixus kept wincing from the pain of this, and Harry looked up at him, biting his lip.

“Apologies that I cannot be more gentle. Time is short.”

“Fret not about such things, and see poison from my body.”

“Almost done.” Harry assured him. “It wasn’t a strong poison. I don’t think it was meant to outright kill you.” Harry babbled. “I think it was to weaken you, to make you slower, so that Spartacus had a better chance at beating you. They couldn’t have made an obvious attempt on you, because the guests would have suspected, and not found enjoyment in the spectacle.”

“Harian speaks truly.” Spartacus said. “We would have had to fight as normal, people would have suspected foul play when you started twitching on the sand before match had even begun. You had to die by the sword, and not from the poison.”

“That they would sink so low, they are completely without honour!” Crixus fumed.

“They always have been. You are just now seeing it for the first time, for yourself.” Harry told him.

“Batiatus had Sura killed.” Spartacus told them.

Both Harry and Crixus turned to stare at him.

“The man who brought her here, Aulus. He had a wound in his neck and he was with the medicus at the same time as I was. He swore that he had defended her on the road, but the wound he had taken in Sura’s defence was absent his skin. I questioned him, and he told me the truth, that Batiatus had ordered him to kill Sura before she could be returned to me.”

“But why?” Harry demanded, horrified and upset at the senseless cruelty of the tale.

“To keep him docile.” Crixus said. “A man will fight for his woman. Batiatus couldn’t have told him that Sura was dead, he’d never have believed it, so he had to show Spartacus that she was dead.”

Harry had trouble breathing as he took that in, and his already upset stomach flipped back and forth.

“I’m so sorry, Spartacus. I tried to help her. I tried.”

“I am grateful to you for taking away her pain and giving us a few moments so that she could pass in peace.” Spartacus said, reaching out to comfort him. “If you had saved her life, Batiatus would still have seen her dead by some other means. He only meant to reunite us for the briefest of moments, to prove to me that she was dead, to rob me of my hope. Crixus is right, he would never have allowed me to keep Sura because it gave me a purpose other than what he wanted from me.”

Harry tried to breathe through the horror he felt. That Sura had been found and killed just to force Spartacus to Batiatus’ will. She had been an innocent woman, her only crime being married to Spartacus, and holding his love. Harry was glad that the Romans would all be dead by the morning. He was glad of the massacre to come.

The gladiators had all learnt to eat quickly, because their breaks lasted for barely twenty minutes these days, instead of the hour they usually had for meals. Many of them were already finished when the guards started glaring at them, and kicking those nearest to get up and back to training.

All Harry had to do was stand and think of Sura being ripped from Spartacus, of Crixus being poisoned, and his food came pouring back out of his mouth, causing alarm to his brothers.

Harry fell to the sand and feigned unconsciousness.

“Harian?!” He heard Duro yelling out, a note of distress and guilt to his tone. Harry sent out a wave of warm comfort to him.

Harry was kicked, he had been expecting it so he had taken precautions and he didn’t react, though his brothers did.

“Kick him again and see what happens!” Donar roared, one voice of a dozen who were all threatening the guard who had kicked him.

“What in the name of the gods is happening?! Doctore?”

Batiatus was on the balcony above, and surveying the almost riot down on the sands.

“Dominus, Harian vomited and collapsed.” Doctore answered.

“See him to the fucking medicus! Do not dare allow him to die!”

Harry was picked up and carried at a jog through the ludus and to the medicus’ rooms. He was laid on a hard, stone bed and covered over with a thin blanket.

Harry allowed himself to fully rest then. He needed to be at full strength if Spartacus’ mad plot was to work at all.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ X

Harry was woken up in time for the preparations for the exhibition match. He was hurried into the bathing area with his brothers, and they cheered to see him.

“How are you feeling, tiny?” Donar asked, coming over to hug him.

“Better.” He said, seeking out Spartacus and Crixus. Spartacus was stood with Agron and Duro, and Crixus was over in a circle of his Gauls.

Spartacus came to collect him, and helped him to bathe himself, oiling him up and scraping him off with a strigil.

“Are you truly feeling better?” He asked, as he carefully drew the strigil down Harry’s leg.

Harry nodded. “Much better. I just needed some more time to heal fully.”

Spartacus’ eyes went to Harry’s shoulder and arms. There wasn’t even a mark, let alone any scarring, to indicate that Pericles’ sica had sliced into him only a week before.

“Words to gladden heart.” Spartacus said softly, continuing to help Harry clean himself.

Agron moved over with Duro, and Harry smiled at them both.

“I had not realised that your fall to the sand was a trick.” Duro said at a whisper. “I feared my errant hit had done damage.”

Harry brushed Duro with more warm comfort, and watched him wriggle in his skin as a result. He giggled.

“I just needed more sleep, ahead of tonight’s plan.” Harry insisted. “Donar encouraged me to eat, and then vomit, after I had complained of feeling sick. I was not truly unconscious, just playing.”

“I thought to rip off that cock sucker’s leg when he kicked you!” Agron told him.

“There would have been no need. I had anticipated such attack and protected myself. His kick only served to rile up my brothers.”

Harry was quickly scraped off, and he took a dip in the water pool, before emerging pink and clean, with no marks on him whatsoever.

“Harian, where are wounds from fight with Pericles?” One of his brothers asked curiously, looking at his unmarked skin.

Harry looked over to Liscus and he shrugged. “They have healed.” He said with a smile.

“It has been a week, how are such grievous wounds healed?” Leviticus demanded.

“I heal very fast.” He said with a grin.

He turned from them and went to get dressed in the subligaria provided for him for the occasion.

“You remember that you must wait for me and Crixus to give you a sign to start attacking guards?” Spartacus was whispering to Agron.

“I remember.” Agron insisted.

“I will drop a weapon for you.” Spartacus told him.

Agron nodded his understanding.

“Harian, you know to unlock the gates?”

Harry nodded. “I will do what I can with the guards also. If I can take down a handful, then the others can join you in the villa sooner.”

“See yourself safe.” Spartacus told him.

Harry rolled his eyes. “Yes, Father.”

“I mean it, Harian.” Spartacus told him, gripping his shoulder tight and giving him a small shake. “See yourself safe and let us handle the Romans.”

Harry shook his head. “I will do what I can.” He insisted. “While staying safe to appease you.”

Spartacus sighed, and patted his shoulder. “I have a feeling that that is the best I will get from you. Just remember to see yourself safe first.”

Harry rolled his eyes again and he sat down on a bench to slip on his sandals, lacing them up his legs, tensing his muscle and moving his foot to ensure he didn’t tie them too tightly, and compromise his movements.

“Hurry, out onto the sands.” Their Doctore chided. “Harian, how are you feeling?” He asked, as he saw Harry among them.

“Better, Doctore.”

“Do not exert yourself, we do not want you collapsing as you did up in villa.”

“I’m more healed now, Doctore.” Harry insisted, as he slipped out onto the sands and he stayed close to Donar, as he’d been told to do.

Their hands were chained up, of course. Glaber’s men didn’t like coming near any of them if they had their hands free, which was a legitimate concern because of the deadly precision in which they wielded their weapons of choice, but Harry was ready. He knew to unlock the gates to the villa, and to unlock the manacles around every gladiator’s wrists. He had been practicing, he could do it, he knew he could.

Agron and Duro were in the centre of the line, but Harry was nervous of the cliff that was to their back. He’d gone over it once, and he had no wish to repeat the experience.

“I will not let you fall, tiny.” Donar comforted him, as Harry looked over his shoulder to see how far away from the edge he was.

“Gratitude, Donar.” Harry said, giving him a smile.

There was laughing and giggling, and Harry looked up to the balcony to see flushed Romans enjoying themselves. They had heard the party going on for some time, but now it was to reach its climax. Spartacus against Crixus. Sine missione…without mercy.

Or…that was what the Roman’s believed. Harry smirked and ducked his head to avoid detection.

“There’s Harian!” An excited boy called out, and Harry had to force himself not to move or look up. He knew that it was the shit of a boy, Numerius, the one who had condemned Varro to death. “His match against Pericles was the most exciting thing I have yet seen! Why is he not facing Spartacus? That would make much better spectacle.”

“Yes, the beloved boy of the city against the champion, Spartacus. Harian did stand as champion in the games against Pompeii, did he not?” Another man spoke. “A small, soft boy against five gladiators. A boy who somehow beat all of them, even Pericles. He should be a match for Spartacus, surely.”

“He did stand as champion, but Harian was wounded in the match against Pericles. I fear putting him against Spartacus would not offer special guests enough of a spectacle with him in such a state.” Batiatus said. They were all speaking as if the men just below them, on the training sands, couldn’t even hear them.

“He looks strong and healthy from here.” Numerius complained.

Harry could almost see that shit of a boy talking Harry into facing Spartacus…as he’d talked Varro into facing Spartacus, and then to his death. How Harry wished that he could kill the piece of shit himself. Their plan wouldn’t work if Harry had to make a play at fighting Spartacus, he wouldn’t be able to focus on unlocking the gate, or the manacles of his brothers.

“Harian has only just awoken from unconsciousness with the medicus. He collapsed on these sands just this afternoon.” Batiatus said firmly. “A showing of Harian will be given, when he has yet recovered, I assure you, but he will make a poor showing if made to fight for you all tonight.”

Harry’s fists clenched and he breathed deeply, calming himself. They would never get the chance to see him fight for his life for sport…never again.

The guests grumbled. Harry was still a marvel to them, standing head and shoulders shorter than all the men he was lined up with. They all wondered how he survived in his matches, against bigger, stronger gladiators, and in severely handicapped matches where he was outnumbered. He was about to give them a taste of just how he did all of that here tonight, when he unleashed his magic onto them all.

Harry was tense, watchful, as Spartacus was called forward to have his manacles removed, and then Crixus followed. The guards all around the sands were eager for the match. It was not just the wealthy Romans, or the common shits, who enjoyed such spectacles, the guards did too, and they would be just distracted enough for Harry to open the gates without notice.

Batiatus gave the command to begin, and Spartacus and Crixus went at one another as if they truly meant to kill one another, but this was all a part of the ruse. They would offer a great spectacle to the guests, and keep everyone’s eyes upon them, so that Harry could use his magic freely.

The special guests all sighed and laughed from the balcony as they watched avidly, all commentating in low voices on what they were watching. It was as Crixus kicked Spartacus to the sand, and everyone watching seemed to take a collective breath and lean in for a closer view, that Harry took his chance, and a sweep of magic had the gates to the villa unlocking. His first part was done.

Spartacus looked at him, just a quick glance, and Harry smiled and gave a barely perceivable nod. It was time.

Harry looked up at the balcony and saw Batiatus and his wife exchange a look, as Crixus was not weakening as they had hoped…or rather as he had hoped, seeing as Lucretia believed herself in love with Crixus, and naively believed that he actually loved her back. Harry wondered if their Dominus thought that she, his wife, had intercepted the poison meant for Crixus. He smiled again, no one even suspected him.

It happened in a split second, as Crixus was hurled to the floor in a practiced move. He gripped his shield, and in the same move that had seen them defeat Theokoles, Spartacus ran at the shield and used it as a launch pad to reach the balcony, thrusting out his sword to kill Romans.

The screaming was terrible. It was the sign that Harry had been waiting for, as a large wave of magic saw the manacles dropping from the wrist of every gladiator. Agron tore across the sand to pick up a sword dropped for him by Spartacus, and he went straight for the guards, who were unsheathing their own swords, ready to kill all the gladiators, who were all unarmed and unarmoured with the exception of Crixus and Agron.

“Stop this!” Their Doctore roared at them, brandishing his whip, but there were too many of them for him to target any one of them. “Have you all lost sense?!”

It was too late to stop this now. They had begun, and it would not end until everyone was dead. Several gladiators tore through the gate, killing the guard on the other side, who had believed himself safe behind the locked gate, only to find that it was not locked any more. They were heading for the villa above, to assist Spartacus, who had climbed over the balcony. They wanted to exact their own revenge upon the Romans who had long since held them as captives, and watched them fight for their lives upon the arena sands with no thought to them as actual, living people.

Harry used a massive amount of his magic to down several guards, pinning them to the sand and allowing his brothers to finish them off with their bare hands, and then steal their weapons for themselves.

Donar almost turned into a wild beast when a guard came after Harry, who was doing as he’d promised and standing back, out of the way of things. The Roman had seen a chance to kill an unarmed boy, and he had paid for it dearly, as Donar stabbed him several times in the back with frenzied thrusts.

“Tiny, stay safe!” Donar chastised him, handing him a sword.

“Thank you, Donar.” Harry said with a smile, taking the sword and looking out across the sands for anything he could help with.

“Crixus, stop this!” He heard their Doctore yell.

“Spartacus shows us the way!” He heard Crixus yell back, but the fighting was too intense to catch more of their conversation. The terrible screaming from the villa was getting louder. The others must have reached the party guests.

A dozen guards lay dead, a handful of gladiators with them, and Harry mourned their loss. He couldn’t save everyone, though he would do what he could, as he used his magic to stick the guards’ feet to the sand, allowing his brothers to kill them easier. He dragged shields from their hands, stopped fatal sword thrusts, and used a powerful levitation charm to see one guard over the side of the cliff when he targeted him and tried to come after him.

The sands were mostly clear now and Crixus led the way up through the gate and up to the villa above. Harry stayed on the sands. He didn’t want to see the massacre above, it was going to be enough just to know that it was done.

“Duro!”

Harry turned and his heart fluttered, as he saw Agron killing a Roman guard while Duro had a sword stuck inside him. He ran over, his heart beating out of his chest, bile trying to claw up his throat, and he fell to his knees beside the brothers.

“Harian, help him!” Agron commanded.

“This time, I save you, brother.” Duro choked out.

“Don’t touch that!” Harry demanded as Agron went to pull out the sword. “Hold him, and pull it out only when I say.”

Harry fed his magic into Duro, numbing the pain, and instantly healing the damage. It was painful, he knew it was because he’d done it to himself. He numbed what he could, even as Duro screamed.

“Pull it out.” Harry said, and Agron gripped the sword and slid it out. Duro grunted and moaned, and Harry immediately set to sealing the wound.

“Will he live?” Agron asked him. Harry ignored him. “Harian! Will he live?!”

“Stop distracting me, Agron!” Harry ordered.

“Will he live?!” Agron shouted louder.

Harry looked up at Agron and stared at him. A moment later he made himself and Duro disappear and he dragged Duro over to the eating area with magic.

“Harian?! Duro?!” Agron screamed, turning in a circle, before falling to his knees and patting the sand where they’d been.

“He…he needs me.” Duro said, breathing quickly and erratically, trying to look for his brother.

“You need me right now.” Harry told him, lying Duro on a table and checking the wound. “You’ll die if this isn’t seen to, and he’s such a nanny goat. Surely he’d prefer you alive, instead of being able to lay eyes on you for every single minute I am healing you.”

Agron continued to scream and yell and rage, while Harry ignored him and went back to healing Duro’s wound.

“You were very brave.” Harry told Duro, to keep his mind from his brother tearing his heart out on the sands.

“He always…always saves me. Now I save him.” Duro slurred.

Harry smiled at him. “You did. You are equal with him now. You have come on so well. You are a good fighter, a good gladiator, and you will live to prove it. Though I fear Agron will tether you to him from now on.”

“It worked for…for Varro and Spartacus.”

Harry snorted, as he remembered the two of them being chained together to fight. That was back when Barca was still by his side.

“I fear you will get sick of it very soon.”

“I will knock sense into brother’s stupid head.” Duro insisted.

“You need to rest, Duro.” Harry said. “Instant healing is painful and exhausting, for your body as well as mine. No more slaying Romans for you.”

“None left.” Duro told him, and true, Harry could hear that the fighting sounds, and screams, had lessened now.

Harry sent more magic into Duro, trying to block out the agonising screams of Agron behind them. Harry could only hope that once he calmed down that he forgave him for this. He had only separated them because Agron had been distracting him.

“Agron! Where is Harian?!”

Harry turned at Spartacus’ voice. He looked furious, and rather deranged as he was blood covered and still wielding a sword dripping blood. Several others were with him, including Donar and Crixus. They all looked furious.

“He took off! He took off with Duro!” Agron screamed at them.

“What do you mean?” Crixus demanded.

“Where is he?!” Donar raged, advancing on Agron.

“Harian, they’ll kill him.” Duro said, trying to force his voice louder.

“They wouldn’t.” Harry said dismissively, using his magic to check on each of Duro’s organs, making sure that none of them were nicked or bleeding.

“They love you!” Duro stressed. “They think he’s done something to you.”

“They know that he wouldn’t do that.”

“Harian, they won’t be…won’t be rational!” Duro tried to tell him.

Harry sighed, and removed the magic from them.

“Agron, tell me what happened.” Spartacus asked then.

“Duro got injured. Harian was helping him, but they vanished!”

“We’re over here, stupid.” Harry called out.

The men turned to look at him, seeing to Duro on a table they had once eaten from.

Agron leapt to his feet and ran over, but thankfully Spartacus got there first, just in time to stop Agron from vaulting Harry from his feet.

“He is healing your brother!” Spartacus shouted, dragging Agron away. “Let him use his ability, or do you want to see Duro die?!”

“Duro!”

“I’m fine, nanny goat.” Duro giggled, sounding weak and tired, but he was still alive. “Let Harian finish healing me.”

“Nanny goat.” Harry giggled alongside Duro.

“Tiny, are you well?” Donar asked him.

Harry nodded. “I’m perfectly fine. Is…is everything upstairs done?”

“You are still a boy, you need not look. We will leave now, and seek safety outside of the city for now.” Spartacus told him.

“Not yet.”

“We will carry Duro.” Spartacus told him.

Harry shook his head. “That isn’t what I meant, Duro will be perfectly fine, and able to walk by himself in a few moments. We need supplies. Gather all the weapons and armour from the ludus. The training swords too.”

“Why the training swords?” Crixus asked.

“We have house slaves who will need to learn to protect themselves. Better to have them use wood, until they’re ready for live steel. Gather food, water, and clothing from the villa as well. We should take everything that will be valuable to us. Everything that we might possibly need.”

Spartacus looked at him a moment, and then nodded. “I will see it done.”

“I will personally see to the medicus’ stores and take what I need.” Harry said. “Though with my ability herbs and medicines are of little need, but I would take them anyway, as a precaution. I might not always be able to use my ability to heal.”

“We must be quick.” Spartacus warned him.

Harry nodded, checked Duro over once more, before nodding to Agron.

Agron moved to immediately embrace his brother, but he turned and gave Harry a soft touch as he left them.

Donar accompanied him as he moved through the ludus, first to the cell that he had shared with Barca and Pietros, to collect up all the coin he had, and to release the pigeons from their cages. They had been Barca and Pietros’, they had been Auctus’, he wouldn’t leave them here to starve to death. After that was done, he hurried to the medicus’ rooms, to find the man himself trembling and cowering under a table.

“We do not mean you harm.” Harry told him. “You have long since cared for all of us, but you must not stay here. You know what the Romans will do to you if you stay.”

“Why would you do this?” The man demanded.

“We all long to be free.” Harry said. “Truly free. Now go.”

The medicus hurried from the room, and Harry went straight to his store room. He knew where it was from when he had tended Crixus after the Theokoles fight.

Donar came back with a sack bag, and Harry started filling it with all the ready-made medicines and poultices. He threw in bandages, dressings, and a case of needles and sinew for stitches. He had to prepare for all eventualities, including injuries or illnesses that he might be too magically exhausted to heal.

“We need to leave, Donar. Come on.” Harry encouraged, half running through the corridors and back out to the training sands. Others were stood with sacks and chests.

“Doctore, come with us!” Crixus encouraged.

“There is only one place for an animal without honour.”

“You are not an animal, and you are not without honour.” Harry told him.

“I cannot believe the things I have heard spoken of you this night.” Oenomaus told him.

Harry bit his lip and avoided his gaze.

“It is true that you use druidic tricks?” The man asked him. “Even in the arena?”

“They showed me no honour.” Harry complained sullenly. “Why shouldn’t I use druidic tricks to see myself safe?”

“No one blames you for it!” Agron cut in, hovering over Duro protectively. “You have saved more than one of us from death.”

“The arena is a place of honour!” Oenomaus roared.

“It is a place of death!” Harry answered back angrily. “I am a fourteen year old boy, bought for some trick of a Roman! I had never touched a sword before I came here, and you dare speak to me of honour when I was thrown into the arena after just three weeks of training! When those fucking cunts threw more and more opponents on me for their sick amusement?! There is no honour in the arena, and none in being a gladiator! Honour is the person we are inside, and I used my abilities only to see myself safe in the arena, and to heal beloved brothers.”

“You allowed this massacre to happen. You opened the gates to see it happen!”

Harry swallowed.

“It would have happened regardless of Harian’s involvement!” Spartacus cut in angrily. “I needed vengeance against Batiatus, for the atrocities committed! I would not have all slaves die because of me, because I killed the Dominus. Killing them all was the only way I could have vengeance, and see us all free.”

“Take your freedom then, but know that it is a poisoned cup.” Oenomaus spat at them, turning and stalking off.

Harry frowned to himself, but they still had need of him, so he walked to the main gate, the one that led out to freedom, into Capua, and he touched it, weaving his magic around the lock and moving the tumblers inside. He gave it a push, and it swung open.

Donar fell into step beside him, and Harry kept to Spartacus’ side, with Crixus and Agron following. Agron was holding Duro tight and close, despite the younger’s insistence that he was feeling perfectly fine.

“Did you get everything we needed?” Harry asked, even as they flowed from the massacred ludus and villa, nearly all of them covered in blood.

“I gathered everything that could be carried.” Spartacus told him.

Harry nodded, but his mind was distracted by Oenomaus’ words.

“He did not mean them.” Crixus told him. “He is angry, and feeling that his place in the world has been lost. All of us know that you were shown no honour or respect. Whatever you used to survive was warranted.”

“Fuck my arse, I finally agree with the Gaul.” Agron commented, and Harry managed a chuckle at his words.

“You remembered to take the spare sandals and subligarias, right?” Harry asked Spartacus, changing the subject.

“Yes, Harian. I took all that we might need.”

Harry smiled and looked out over Capua from their place on the mountain that the ludus stood on.

“It is a nice sight from up here, absent the nerve-wracking tread to the arena.”

“I agree.” Donar nodded. “Though sun casts red glow on all of Capua. More blood is to come.”

“It will.” Harry agreed. “They will not allow us to get away with what we have done. They cannot afford to lest all slaves in the Republic rise up and fight against them. We will have soldiers and mercenaries after us, and to remain free we must fight them off, right to the borders of Rome, so that we might leave it, and never return.”

“If that is what must be done. It will be done.” Spartacus said firmly. His head was higher, he was standing straighter. He seemed a different man cast off from the shackles of servitude, and Harry smiled to see it.

“To freedom then.” Harry said, looking out over the restful Capua, the inhabitants of which had no idea of what had occurred here this night.

Harry inhaled deeply, knowing that he was once again a free man. It felt wonderful and his eyes welled up, though he refused to allow the tears to fall. He was happy, and feeling rather emotional because of it, but he was free, and that was all that mattered right at this moment.

He was on the path to Barca and Pietros, and he just knew that he would be reunited with them. They were free, and now he was free too, and he would sail to Carthage and he would find them, on their little farm, and he would join them. His heart swelled and one tear escaped to roll down his cheek. He brushed it away with a careless hand, and smiled. He was on his way to being reunited with his lovers. They were all finally free.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ X

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: This is the last chapter, lovelies. Fourteen weeks passed so quickly. This isn’t the end though, as I have two planned sequels to this fic, Servus ad Bellum, and then after that Servus ad Amorem. I haven’t finished either of them yet, so it’ll be a while before they’re posted, but keep an eye out for them, or join me on Facebook, where the progress of them will be reported.
> 
> Though I hope that, given that you’ve reached this far into the fic, that you’ve enjoyed the first part to this trilogy. It has certainly been a journey to get it all posted up.
> 
> Harry, Spartacus, Crixus, and all the others will be back in Servus ad Bellum, but until the sequel, lovelies,
> 
> StarLight Massacre. X

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: A new foray into a new crossover fandom for you, lovelies. I’ve had this one in reserve for a little while, it is 14 chapters long, and complete, but it has two planned sequels, neither of which are currently complete. I had hoped to get a little further into the first sequel, Servus ad Bellum, but given the unprecedented uncertainty we are living in the world over, I feel it’s better if I keep updating anything I can as a distraction.
> 
> So, all of that aside, I hope that you’ve all enjoyed this first chapter, and rest assured that the second will be following in just a week. I know many might not like that Harry is only 14, and being put through all of this horror, but as a fan of history, and historical fiction, let me tell you Harry is not alone in his suffering, the Romans saw their slaves as furniture, objects without feelings or emotions, just things to be used to selfishly better their own lives, and even children were used as sex slaves, and put into brothels. The age of consent for freeborn citizens in Rome was actually 12, but this age did not count for slaves who could be used for sex at any age their master wished it, which is absolutely disgusting in our modern time, but just a part of life to them. Having Harry be 14 worked well with the story line, as he encountered the time-turner that Hermione was using for that year, and that was the perfect set-up to make this crossover, and that’s the only reason I have made him 14.
> 
> Boys were usually 16 before they were sold to a ludus, though could have been much younger, as again, they're 'just' slaves, and were about 18 when they first started fighting in the arena, so Harry is a little young for it, but as we saw, it was Solonius’ ploy that had Harry becoming a gladiator recruit in the first place, instead of being sold to a brothel, as originally planned for him, so I hope that excuses the little age discrepancy of Harry becoming a gladiator recruit.
> 
> This fic starts in 74 BC, and will encompass the third servile war, which lasted from 73 to 71 BC. It will focus mostly on the TV series, which wasn’t very accurate, I admit, but that is the canon for this fandom, and for this fic.
> 
> StarLight Massacre. X


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